The Beat of My Heart
by Fiore-Silver45-24
Summary: A Southern Belle attracts the attention of a certain boy genius. While she gets used to the idea of having a crush, he does everything in his power to woo her. Will a psychopath keep the two apart? Or can something as simple as music bring them together?
1. Chapter 1: Dinner from Hell

**Okay, so here it is. It's all mine, my ideas and plot and stuff. Except for the obvious things that I do not own, I own everything. **

**F.S.**

**APRIL 17, 2011**

"Is there any possible way we could postpone this?" Katrina Silver asked of her aunt, "Or, better, avoid it altogether!" Katrina Silver, age fifteen, was being forced to go with her aunt and uncle to a local restaurant with six of the neighboring families. Count 'em. _Six. _Katrina had long, dark auburn hair, as the natural red color was dimmed by the lack of sunlight all winter. She kept it in a tight bun, unusual for a modern American teen. She had green eyes, almost an unnatural shade of green, as they tended to darken with her anger, darker than the most secluded glade, or brighten with happiness, as bright as a spring leaf. She possessed the Silver family nose, which was a small, slightly upturned feature that received the occasional compliment. Silvers were proud of their noses. Her china-pale face was also accompanied by perfectly arched eyebrows. This was a natural feature, too, (no plucking involved) inherited from her mother, who was not part of the Silver bloodline, but married to one. Her mother's maiden name was Klime, or something like it. Regardless, Katrina counted her lucky stars she did not receive her father's genes here, as Silvers had unusually large, bushy eyebrows that tended to grow together at an alarming rate. With lashes like clock springs and full lips, she would have been pretty if not for the sour expression characteristically plastered to her face.

Her aunt, Felicia Silver, a woman in her mid-forties, had fading-blonde hair, _her_ family nose, or as Katrina called it when she was in a foul mood, the "McGruder snout", and a few laugh lines etched on her features. She was reasonably pretty for her age as well. She fixated her gray eyes on her niece, her brother-in-law's last living relation besides her own husband, Jeremy Silver. They had agreed to take the child in because of her looks, smile, smarts (we'll get back to _that_ later), love, and because their son, Sammy, was longing for a play-mate. And, of course, they felt so sorry about that horrible flood that carried off Katrina's family. Not even a year ago, though it seemed lifetimes away and hurt anew everyday.

"No, Katrina, for the final time, you _will _accompany us and you_ will not_ complain. Or talk about your little submato-hoozie-matrons," Katrina's strange interests were dead giveaways to who she was. Felicia fought hard to keep her voice level; she was losing. Katrina sighed, obviously tired of explaining _everything_ to _everybody. _

"Sub-a-tom-ic-part-i-cles," she said slowly, enunciating very clearly, hoping her aunt would understand _this_ time, "and, those things are _so_ third grade," she added, a spark of average teenage-girl showing. Her aunt just nodded, finding it better to agree with Katrina than to put her in her place. The last time Felicia tried, she ended up taking a three-hour nap and a few aspirins. The reason the Silvers (minus Katrina) wanted to make such a good impression on the neighbors was because the families of the old neighborhood in the old state had heard of Katrina. She attracted attention without really meaning to. But, the Georgia flood, though terrible, provided the family with the opportunity to make a relatively fresh start. Felicia was determined to reign in her niece's fiery temper and big vocabulary. She would not be belittled again. Her family had already been looked down upon due to their accents. Born and bred noble Southerners. The angrier one of them got, Katrina in particular, the thicker the accent became, until they eventually abandoned grammar and pronunciation. Even Katrina had let her accent slip; several times, in fact.

"Well, are we ready, ladies?" Katrina's uncle, Jeremy Silver, walked in just then, disrupting the muted argument. He was a nearly-bald man, late forties, with a large brown beard and warm green eyes. He had the customary Silver nose and eyebrows, and his smile could put a banana to shame. He was a police officer, a deputy, and he was well-built, despite his slight roundness. He took pride in polishing his guns everyday after work, promising himself (and Katrina if she happened to walk by) that he would look after his adopted "daughter" if she came home after having a bad day involving any sort of teenaged male. His son, Katrina's three-year-old cousin, Sammy, held his hand, dressed up in a polo shirt and toddler jeans. Sammy looked nothing like his father, but rather, his late uncle. Suspicions arose at this at first, but after a DNA test by Katrina, proving Sammy to be 100% Jeremy and Felicia, Mr. Silver accepted it.

Sammy had a pale face framed by black hair with bits of brown in it. He got his own portion of the Silver genes in the nose and eyebrows, but his eyes were all his own. A deep, endless blue. No one else had blue eyes in the family tree. He was an oddity, a treasure, in his own household.

"Yes," said Mrs. Silver, picking up her son, "we're ready to go," She walked past her husband, not once looking at Katrina. The teenager became tight-lipped and betrayed no emotion. She followed her family to the beat-up mini-van in the dusty, under-used garage. As Katrina fastened Sammy in and then herself, she was overcome with a vague sense of expectancy. It was squashed when she remembered where she was going. Mr. Silver gunned the engine, shot out of the garage, and began to drive down the curvy, two-lane street through their tiny neighborhood, heading towards "_Senor La Multa Gaseosa Come"_, the so-called restaurant one of the neighbors had picked out. Katrina briefly wondered if anyone knew that the English translation of that was "Mr. Gassy's Fine Eats". Hardly appetizing. Katrina really should have eaten that Moon Pie cookie thing when she found it in the cupboard. It was going to be a long three-hour dinner.

The restaurant was more horrible than anything Katrina could have imagined. Smoky, over-crowded, with a horrible aroma that seemed to be everywhere, including on the furniture and customers. There seemed to be a rainbow shine on everything, confirming her theory that places like this were nothing but giant grease traps, clogging up arteries everywhere. They were like diseases. Awful, yet interesting, and spreading too quickly. A skinny, pimple-faced teenager stood behind a podium made to look like a happy taco. The taco reminded Katrina of clowns seen in paintings. Seemingly happy on the outside, screaming for help on the inside. The teenager, chin in hand, glanced at the family before flicking his eyes to stare at the walls again. Katrina cleared her throat, fixing the rude boy with a cold stare; she could feel her eyes getting darker with each passing second. The lanky teenager let out an exaggerated sigh. He pushed four menus into Mr. Silver's hands and motioned for the group to follow him. They maneuvered their way through screaming toddlers and greasy waiters.

Mrs. Silver veered off from the group unexpectedly, causing the waiter showing them to their table to stomp his foot in a very annoying way. Katrina shot him another look, but he took no notice. Mrs. Silver was conversing with another woman, who happened to be in a very large group. A few smiles, a laugh, and Mrs. Silver eventually came back to join her family, nearly toppling a small waitress.

"Come on, Jerry. It's Elaine and the rest," And with that, the Silver family was ushered towards their neighbors. Elaine was a tall African-American woman with neatly parted hair and a sweet smile. She sat with someone Katrina assumed was her husband, an equally tall man with a clean-shaven head and business suit. Very out-of-place in such a pigsty, in Katrina's opinion. She allowed her aunt and uncle do the talking until they were invited to sit.

"Oh, my, you look fabulous," an aged lady with a pink jacket complimented Mrs. Silver.

"Thank you, Anita," Mrs. Silver replied, praising Anita's practically fluorescent jacket.

"Jerry, how've you been?" said a blonde man in his mid-thirties to Mr. Silver. And this was how it went. Somewhere between the genuine compliments and white lies, the Silvers had been seated, brought menus, and had ordered. Katrina had not been allowed to order. An old man across from her wouldn't allow it. He had a thin, white mustache, and had a sombrero perched comically on his egg-shaped head. The rest of his face was too squinty and wrinkly to make out any real features. He ordered for her, not even considering what she might actually _want_ to eat.

"Young ladies should enjoy a meal, not go to the trouble of making difficult decisions." He said, winking at her. Mr. Silver smiled a bit. It was an uneasy smile. Not an "oh-dear-here's-the-man-I-owe-five-dollars-to" smile; more of an "I've-got-to-explain-to-my-neighbor-why-I-blew-up-his-garage" smile.

"Trevor, Katrina can order for herself," he said gently to the old man. "Trevor" waved the comment away. Katrina grimaced, half bristling at Trevor's unwanted offer, half dreading the macaroni and cheese that was to come. The adults talked animatedly, in an almost constant buzz, and pretty much all at the same time; but there was a gap in the sound waves on the side of the table opposite Katrina. She tuned in, angling her head inconspicuously. Talking, talking…talking, talking, and talking. There! Katrina realized. Someone wasn't partaking in the conversation. With nothing left to do, she allowed her curiosity to get the best of her; she glanced up. She scanned the faces of her apparent neighbors, looking for an unmoving mouth. She searched twice before she noticed someone. A boy. Looking right at her. He casually glanced away, pretending to have a conversation with Anita. The old woman happily complied. Katrina glared at the boy. Striking red hair, thick tinted glasses, and a black turtle-neck. Suddenly, Katrina's aunt spoke up. Above the din of the restaurant, Katrina had to strain to hear her.

"Dexter, how's school been, sweetheart?" Aunt Felicia said in a honey-sweet voice. The boy looked up. Katrina took care not to appear too interested.

"Fine, thank you," he answered, accent drowning out all conversation. Katrina's ear swiveled slightly to funnel the sound to her eardrum. Stupid bat ears of hers. They moved slightly when detecting a new sound, much like a cat's or a dog's. Forcing her face to remain the same color and to not turn red with embarrassment for her crazy ears, Katrina waited to hear more of the conversation, or even to be asked to join, as bored as she was. However, the food arrived then. Katrina grudgingly reached for her plate, but was stopped short by the same old man who had ordered for her.

"Let me get that for you, dear," he said. He took her plate, and attempted to cut up her macaroni noodles. With a spoon.

"Girls shouldn't be too close to knives," he said, smiling that oh-so-annoying smile of his. Katrina scowled. She could handle a knife. She had been eating with silverware for ten years, thank you very much. She could order for herself, too. She smiled at Trevor, contemplating if saying something was worth ruining her aunt's little gathering. The old man pushed her plate towards her, handing her a fork (a child's fork with rounded prongs), asking a waiter for a refill on _her_ water, though it was full, and, in an attempt to start a conversation, Trevor asked her how her sewing was going. Six seconds of awkward silence followed. The rest of the table had decided to listen in at this incredibly inconvenient time. Sewing? Katrina could not sew.

"I can't sew," she said, gazing steadily at the man. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dexter move his head towards them. It was nearly unnoticeable, much like her own maneuver. Trevor seemed taken aback.

"Well, what can you do, my dear?" he asked innocently.

"I can type five-hundred words a minute, read in thirteen languages, write in twelve, speak fifteen, take apart a computer, rebuild it, and make it run four times as fast, no matter what model it is, and I can recite _Gone With the Wind_ word for word," Katrina finished. One of Dexter's eyebrows arched. Just barely. Aunt Felicia slapped her forehand with her hand. Even Sammy knew that Katrina had somehow screwed something up. The old man got a strange look in his eye, almost… disappointment; anger? He turned to Katrina's uncle.

"Jerry, I hope you've taught this girl her place. In the kitchen and whatnot, I mean. Running a clean house. At the very least, sewing for her man!" The man sounded thoroughly surprised, insistent. Dexter frowned slightly. Uncle Jerry looked at his wife. Aunt Felicia pretended to be busy with a piece of burrito. Katrina glowered at the man.

"That," she growled, sure her eyes looked nearly black, "is the single most male-chauvinistic comment I have ever heard in my entire life. Welcome to the twenty-first century, you moronic imbecile. I assure you, women are perfectly capable of doing more than just crawling around on the floor with a broom and mop. Women are now doing jobs in factories, airports," she paused, feigning surprise, "even… the _military_." Mr. Oldie balked at her before regaining his composure. No girl was to speak to _him_ like that. She would have to be taught her place, whether it be in a public place or not.

"Now, dear-" he said, trying to be calm. Katrina cut him off.

"Don't 'dear' me. You ought to realize when you're out of line, ordering for me, when I'm perfectly capable of reading and talking simultaneously; handing me _my own_ silverware, telling me to sew for 'my man'." She spat the last words out like a sour pecan. She pointed an accusing finger at him. For the next eight seconds, Katrina became unintelligible, as her anger went on, unchecked. As previously stated, when she was upset, no one could understand her, so her accent was a little more than a string of gibberish. Albeit angry gibberish. She stood up and slapped her hands flat on the table, causing the utensils to dance, and her face inches from the old man's. He shook like no grown man should when faced with a teenage girl. Somewhere, within all the drama, the rest of the restaurant had gone completely silent. Even the infants had stopped squalling.

"Now," she growled, voice dripping with fury, "you're gonna leave this restaurant knowin' full well how capable women and girls are. In fact, you're gonna go home, on the internet, if you have any, you narrow-minded Yankee, and search for women in the 1900's. _WOMEN WITH JOBS._" She added, face closer with every word, "The next time we meet, I hope you'll have somethin' in-nerestin' to talk about." Her accent, though more understandable, shook with anger and cold contempt. The old man nodded and backed his chair up from the suddenly very intimidating child. He fell, knocking over a waiter, causing water to spill everywhere. He stood up, fully intent on running away as quickly as possible. Maybe buy a computer.

"Say you're sorry," she called after him, voice in danger of rising. Trevor stuttered out several apologies to the young man on the floor before scurrying from the restaurant as quickly as he could. Katrina sat down. The entire establishment watched the movement. Katrina glanced around, eyes as dark as green velvet.

"I'm done," she said loudly, accent nearly gone. Activity once again exploded. Babies cried, children whined, parents cursed themselves for going out to eat, and servers twisted through the tables, all wanting to resume normality, so as not to anger the red-haired girl sitting at the largest table. Over it all, Katrina could just barely make out a little laugh, a chuckle, someone who was trying desperately not to laugh and failing miserably. Katrina looked up to see the boy, Dexter, with his head ducked, trying to keep a straight face. But Miss Silver did not look at her aunt and uncle. She would catch hell for this, she was sure.

"Damned Southern pride," she said. It really was her injured pride that had gotten the best of her. And that's when Dexter really laughed. He was alone in this, as no one else even smiled, save Katrina, though it was small and well hidden. She could feel the awkwardness surrounding the group, and she began to wonder if she should have scrambled from the restaurant when the thoroughly spooked old-timer did.


	2. Chapter 2: Remembering

**Again, all mine. I hope you like it, plus, I figured out how to separate the chapters, a special thanks to my bestie, VVB! 3**

Later that night, Katrina was grounded from the basement for a month, along with no internet, movies, or general fun activities. She didn't care. The internet was crappy on her guardians' computer, and the movies were old and poorly directed. But to be banned from the basement was a different matter altogether. The basement held everything. Her photos, robotic parts, actual working robots, plants and animals that needed daily study and care. Back home, in Georgia, in her own house, she had had a room in the backyard, as there were no basements. Georgia was known for floods, not tornados, so basements were pretty much unnecessary. This room had so many amazing things that it would've shocked anyone who decided to enter. But it was strictly under lock and key. It was three stories, going into the ground of course, as a three-story shed was likely to attract attention. Fully functioning robots she called "Silver Bullets" maintained order in her little home away from home. She built them herself, from the time when she was ten on up to fourteen. That was before the flood. Before she was ten, however, she liked to study biology. Not just capturing crickets and putting them in a jar to see what would happen. Actual biology, a good ten or twenty years ahead of her time. She dissected them in a sterile environment, put certain things in jars, took journals full of notes, tested certain environments and reactions, even cross-breeding a few plants and animals to get a desired effect. Age ten, mind you.

Much like how dogs were originally bred, Katrina wanted to make a perfectly safe pet that would possess a dangerous quality. So, Katrina searched and searched for mild-tempered poisonous snakes. She bred them, their offspring being mild as well. On and on she went, until she finally had a snake that had just as much poison as the others, but practically no fighting instinct. She kept this snake as her pet, called it Tallulah, and went from biology to botany to robotics. She expanded through the years, dabbling in astronomy and psychology, but really, she should have been studying meteorology. Eleven months ago, fourteen-year-old Katrina had looked casually out of an upper-story greenhouse window. Dark, black-tinted storm clouds threatened lots of rain. Paying this no heed, she did not warn her family, and instead retreated underground to study some rare plants a man had gotten to grow. She took just two from his personal garden, so she could pollinate them, and spent at least six days underground, trying to get some sort of effect. When it proved fruitless, she ventured back up.

Being three stories underground and surrounded by six-foot thick walls of concrete, her laboratory was completely sound-proof. And water proof. The light she received came from a special type of phosphorescent fungus kept in magnifying chambers at regular intervals. No exhaust. Perfect lighting. When she traveled upwards in her large elevator, she noticed how thick and humid the air had become. It was not normal rainy humidity. It was heavy, without the customary freshness of a rain shower, and the air smelled old, muddy. Still unsuspecting, she exited through the elevator's double doors, proceeding purposefully to the door of the shed hiding her lab. As the elevator sank back into hiding, wooden floorboards covering the hole, she tugged on the door knob. The door would not open. Again she tried, and again, until she was forced to get a Silver Bullet to come away from its preset duty to help twist the door knob. With more effort than should've been necessary, the door slid open.

Gallons of water had rushed in, dousing the average shed equipment. The Silver Bullet propelled itself onto a table. Katrina was not so lucky. She was knocked off of her feet and slammed into a wall. Dark blots spotted her vision, and she had hastily tried to blink them away. Standing shakily to her feet, Katrina shuffled out the door. The sight that greeted her was more than anyone should ever have to see. Two police cars, one ambulance, and about ten news vans were around the property. The entire lawn was underwater. Katrina, though five-foot-two, had to wade to reach a newswoman. She had had fake written all over her. Fake hair, fake nails, and fake sympathy. At first, the woman barely glanced at the bedraggled, sopping, tired-looking youth. Indeed, she tried to shoo her away. Then, the penny dropped. In a comical double-take, the woman recognized Katrina, and she wrapped the teenager in a hug that could have made a bear whimper. Standing up straight as a board, the newscaster turned back to the camera. The next words she said went world-wide for three days.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, much like a ringleader. A fake tear appeared and landed on the collar of her raincoat, "Katrina Fiore Silver, daughter of Doctor and Mrs. Everett Silver, has been found alive!" The camera basically went up Katrina's nose before "alive" had been fully spoken. Katrina, though fourteen, felt five. She looked at the fake woman, pleading in her eyes, begging to be wrong.

"Where is my family?" she asked, letting her voice crack. The newscaster let out what sounded like an actual sob. She hugged Katrina again.

"Oh, you poor, sweet thing. They're… they… gone, sweetheart. I'm so sorry," Katrina had refused to believe it. She had run to her house, which was completely mutilated and underwater up to the second story. The Silver home was built in a bowl, a bowl that had filled. Katrina's father had said that if it ever rained during the summer, they wouldn't have to leave their house to swim. A bit ironic. Katrina had almost reached the house when she was picked up by a burly police officer and was carried back to the news van. Katrina was gone the instant she set foot on the ground. She passed reporters everywhere, trying to block out their seemingly heart-felt comments.

"-the late Doctor Silver and his wife and six year-old-daughter-"

"-discovered dead-"

"Katrina Silver was found just now, miraculously alive-"

"-drowned, trapped under the first-floor ceiling-

"-Silver, known for his extensive research in cancerous diseases-"

"- found yesterday-"

"-flooded for five days straight-"

"-heavy rains-"

"-fatal-"

On she ran, stopping at the ambulance. The siren lights were off. Three indistinguishable mounds on gurneys made Katrina retch. Two were large, and one was very, very small. Alyssa. Katrina fell to her knees, water going up to her waist, sobbing uncontrollably. The ambulance doors closed. She was not allowed to go with her family. Three strong police officers and a cameraman had to drag her away from the scene, screaming and wailing. The next month was spent with people pretending to be her friends, trying to find someone to take her, and "attempting" to keep the media away. The story was front page for six weeks before a new diet pill came out. She had sat silently the entire time. Her eyes did not brighten for three months straight.

Then Uncle Jerry and Aunt Felicia showed up with little Sammy. He looked so much like Alyssa, so much like her little sister. They immediately took to each other. She spent every possible moment with them, and there came a day when they popped in and Sammy held in his hand a piece of paper. He handed it shyly to Katrina, who accepted it graciously. On it was a drawing of a stick person. The person wore no clothes and had one curvy red line on each side of its head to represent hair. The stick figure was smiling, holding hands with a smaller, bald stick figure that was holding hands with… well, it looked like two boxes stacked on top of each other with circles and bright colors decorating it. The box figure had a face. A happy face. Katrina's eyes had brightened; nearly lime-green.

"This is you," Sammy said, pointing with his little fingers to the red-haired character, "and this is me," he explained, motioning towards the bald figure.

"Who's this?" Katrina asked, indicating the boxy figure. Sammy shrugged.

"Robot," he said simply, popping his thumb in his mouth. Katrina's brows furrowed. Her mind began to work. Sammy left the picture with her, along with three well-used crayons. Katrina stayed, alone and silent, for three hours, staring at the piece of paper. A desire sparked in her heart.

She wanted to. She was a genius. It was in her blood. But could she? In a way, she felt that it was her own fault her family had died. Though she could not have prevented it, if she had not been quite so intelligent, she would not have been safely underground. She would have died, too. And yet… she needed to create. To build. She had to. Fingers shaking, she picked up a rounded black crayon. Flipping over the piece of paper, she created a new design. A new Silver Bullet. A new Katrina.

When Jeremy and Felicia Silver had arrived the next day, Katrina's bare, temporary room was covered in designs. Many were scratched out, some crumpled up, some torn to shreds, but a few were kept in one piece, in a neat pile by the sleeping Katrina's form. Under her folded arms that she was using as a make-shift pillow was Sammy's drawing. An exact copy, actually. Save one change to a character. The boxy, uneven robot had been replaced with a sleek, silver, torpedo-shaped machine. Around the smiling being was an assortment of blueprints and measurements, including a small memo, written in Katrina's neat, tilted penmanship:

_Get more crayons_

After signing a few papers, Katrina was eagerly turned over to her aunt and uncle. Once packed, she glanced at the pile of papers on the small side table.

"I'm taking them," she said, not rudely, but leaving no room for discussion. Her family nodded. Katrina had carried Sammy all the way to the van.

Her thoughts drifted to this time every once in a while. She owed Sammy more than he would ever know. He had given her a reason to live. He was her little guardian angel. So, she guarded him. Without smothering him, she made every possible activity as enjoyable as possible while at the same time, remaining safe. She had once fractured a man's wrist when the man had decided to shove Sammy out of the way at a fair. Seeing her little cousin sprawled in the dirt without his large father around, tears in his big blue eyes, Katrina had taken the matter into her own hands. Grabbing the man's wrist, she twisted and yanked upwards, pinning the arm behind the man's back. She heard something snap, and from her studies of anatomy, she knew she had definitely fractured something, and maybe a few tendons were gone in the elbow, too. With her being small, the fat man could not work an arm around his own girth to swat her away. When she did let go, the man was a little more than a huge groaning lump lying on the ground. She received no cotton candy for her achievement.

Katrina drifted upstairs to her room, sorry that her aunt was unhappy, but glad that there was one less chauvinistic jack-ass in the world. She peered out the enormous window that covered an entire wall. She had done this renovation herself. When she first arrived in her new home, the little bedroom had been tasteless, and had but one small fifteen-by-fifteen window. She fixed that up with her newest Silver Bullets. This was about the time her aunt and uncle had allowed her free-run of the basement. But now, no renovations could be done; no ideas could be put to the test. Katrina was thoroughly bored.

Banishment from the basement meant banishment from her new lab, one she was struggling to build. It was hard enough to get a fully functioning lab to be completely undetectable without with her wretched memories haunting her. She crossed her arms, drumming her fingers on her forearm, a habit she only did when she was comfortable. When her parents were alive, she would do it all the time around them. Here, outside her ever-so-beautiful Georgia, she hadn't done it in a long time. Her eyes focused to take in the scene outside her window.

A thin tree-line created beautiful shadows on the ground, the cause of which was the gorgeous orange and purple twilight. How Katrina loved dark, rusty oranges and deep purples. No other colors would work for her. Except silver, of course. Maybe green. But no pink, if it could be avoided. She walked over to the continuous pane of glass, gazing out over the trees. From this vantage point, she could see the next-door neighbors' house, another neighbor's garage, and, further down, the roof of another's. So, it wasn't a Hollywood view. It suited her just fine. A soft knock was heard from behind her. Katrina, trying not to be more of bother, hurriedly opened the door, finding no one other than her aunt. Felicia looked more motherly than ever, anger gone. Katrina knew why. She knew what Felicia was going to talk about. She knew her own answer, too.

"I'm not going," she said. Her fingers had stopped tapping. She was no longer content. Felicia's face drooped, but somehow maintained an encouraging smile. She moved into the room, quietly closing the door. Katrina, standing rigid, looked back at her aunt, stubbornness and a touch of pleading in her eyes.

"Katrina," Aunt Felicia said, sitting down on Katrina's purple and orange comforter, "you know you can't avoid this. If you think you had a chance getting out of that dinner, you've know hope for side-winding out of tomorrow. You're going to school," Katrina did not flinch at the mention of the dinner, but her nose twitched at the mention of school, as though it preferred to be turned up at something so far beneath it.

"Why school? Why me? You know that there's nothing they can possibly teach me that I don't already know." Katrina pointed out. Felicia nodded. It was true, but not the point.

"That's not the point," she said, "The point is: you need someone, _anyone_, to get along with. Someone your age." Katrina had heard this speech so often before, it had become something of a cliché.

"I don't require any such companionship," she replied for what must have been the fifth time.

"You do,"

"I won't know anyone,"

"You will eventually,"

"You can't make me go,"

"I can," This comment was met with a minute of silent stubbornness. Katrina put her arms to her sides, much like an officer. She would not go. It simply was not going to happen. When her parents made her go, she had fought with them, as well. But, being her parents, and what with them knowing practically everything about their daughter, her mother and father had found a way to bribe (or blackmail) Katrina to force her to go. No shed for a month, no iPod for three weeks, or even the threat to send her to a neighbor's house every night for a week so her parents could go out. And this Mrs. Silver was no pushover, either. Felicia was not going to roll over for Katrina. She was going to maintain the peace, but there would have to be authority.

"You will go to school," Felicia said, smarter than she appeared, "or the media will escort you there." Katrina stared. The media? Her aunt would tell the media where she was going to school? Not possible.

"You wouldn't dare," Katrina breathed. Felicia's face was straight and serious.

"I would. Once they catch wind of it, they'll stake out the school as though it were a campsite. This family will again be front page, and whatever hope you possessed for a relatively normal life will be shattered," Felicia finished calmly. Katrina was shocked, to say the least.

"The paparazzi will eventually find out, anyway. Look at it this way, Katrina: my way, you get a good two months of normal school-time fun. Your way, the prospect of being under the radar will never come true, and you will instantly be sucked back into the drama. Front page. Again." Aunt Felicia was not cruel. She loved Katrina; so much in fact, she was willing to trade her niece's comfortable existence for the prospect of real happiness. To see a truly happy Katrina for the first time in a long, long time was more powerful than her guilt. Call it blackmail, or a persuading argument. Aunt Felicia was a clever bitty, no doubt. Katrina groaned, something she only did when faced with an obvious yet painful decision. Felicia took this as a yes, an agreement to go.

"Oh, it won't be so bad, sugar. You'll know _someone_. Well, you won't _know_ him, but you'll recognize him," she said encouragingly, walking to the door.

When it was shut Katrina locked it. School. School required things she did not care about. Clothes, makeup, gossip… boys. Katrina's face turned pink. It was just that age. Ignoring the last item on the list, Miss Silver proceeded to her closet, a large space filled with clothing, and that was just for the spring season. Aunt Felicia adored fashion, and she finally had a girl to shop for. There must have been close to a thousand dollars in spring and summer clothes alone hanging up in there. Selecting the simplest outfit possible, a pair of whitewashed jeans and a dark purple quarter-sleeved top with a pair of white cork flats, Katrina created a complete outfit. She was all about quick-to-find when it came to clothes. At least the colors didn't clash. And it had purple. Dressing for bed in white pajamas, Katrina let out her long hair, feeling the pressure ease off of her skull. She brushed her hair thoughtfully, wondering who she could possibly know at the school. She was in a completely different time-zone, for goodness sakes! She brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face in her own personal bathroom, replaying her aunt's past conversations, looking for a hint in her words at the mysterious person she should recognize, but not _know_. She crawled into bed, snapping the side table lamp off. Darkness slowly engulfed her vision as her eyes got used to the sudden lack of light.

Then she nearly went blind as a flash of white light filled the room, blocking out the trees' silhouettes outside. It did not help that an entire wall was completely transparent. A boom that could have matched a warhead going off at close range followed just half a second later. Then it was dark and silent again. A dog barked somewhere outside. Getting up, Katrina rushed to the window and looked outside, blinking spots away from her eyes. The next-door neighbors' house looked like a light bulb, with the same white light coming from their basement windows, slowly receding. Their house was definitely the source. She wished she knew who lived there. She would have written a letter of complaint. Sometimes lines had to be drawn, even for nightlights. Nobody was that scared of the dark.

She heard the sound of a voice in some sort of accent. It seemed to be cursing. She also heard the sound of _hssht… hssht_… as though someone was using a fire extinguisher. When the light from the basement was completely gone, she saw the dim yellow and white glow of electrical lights. The entire neighborhood seemed to have awoken. Men and women lined the street in front of the house, shouting. Katrina pressed a button on a side panel on her wall. A window as big as hers could not be lifted up or opened out. She was glad she thought ahead of time for an opening mechanism, watching as the glass slid silently sideways into the wall, disappearing. She recognized a few neighbors.

There was Elaine and her husband, both looking rumpled in matching red-striped pajamas yet still surprisingly clean, and Anita, in a yellow fluorescent nightgown, of all things. After a few moments of shouting, a light came on upstairs next door. Katrina watched as the lights flicked on one after another in the house. A man emerged from the house, looking extremely tired. Katrina recognized him as the man who had first greeted her uncle at the restaurant. Katrina could hear some of the louder neighbors over the general ranting.

"Not again!"

"What do we have to do to get some sleep?"

"Be more courteous!"

"Keep that boy of yours in line, or we'll get the police down here again!" This shout was followed by choruses of "yeah!" and "again!" in quick succession. The man who had come out of the house held his hands up in front of him in an apologetic way. After a moment, the neighbors stopped shouting, and took to simply walking away, a few throwing the "I'm watching you" signal over their shoulders, in which they took two fingers to indicate their eyes and pointed with the same fingers at the man and his house in general. The man nodded to show he understood. He went back inside, and a loud command could be heard. Katrina could not understand what was said, but when the lights were turned off in the basement, then the first floor, then the second, she assumed that the man who had come out had gone back to bed, and that whoever was in the basement had been chewed out. Katrina waited, predicting what would happen next. She was not disappointed. A light came on in the basement just moments after the entire episode. Katrina hoped there would be no more explosions tonight. She seemed to have very troublesome neighbors. Closing her window, she put an eye mask on her face and earplugs in her ears, drowning out the night noises with music.

Dexter waved the smoke away from his face. Even though he was working with familiar chemicals, the late hour and poor lighting of the basement did nothing to help his need to remain unnoticed. Normally, he would handle chemistry in his laboratory, but he did not exactly know what would happen if the chemicals were mixed in that environment. As clean as it was, spotless, in fact, explosions and mishaps had happened before. He was glad he had moved to the basement for the initial mixing. It might have caused some serious damage. However, he failed to take into account the fact that the basement had hardly been used. Ever. Dust and volatile chemicals are not things that mix particularly well. One speck of dust happened to land in the beaker, and _something_ exploded in a very tiny area. It created something of a vacuum, sucking in the air and spitting out light. It blinded him, and robbed him of his air, effectively knocking him to the floor. An explosion loud enough to crack the walls erupted from nowhere.

When the light had vanished, making a _whoosh_ sound as it dissipated, and the ringing in is ears had stopped, Dexter realized that the table had caught on fire. He cursed without thinking. Proceeding to the ancient fire extinguisher conveniently located to his right, he put out the flames. Readjusting his glasses, he silently hoped the incident had been contained by the brick walls. No such luck. He could already hear the neighbors lining up outside. Dexter could easily imagine them with pitchforks this time. It _had_ been a rather large explosion. He could hear his father coming downstairs. He knew he was busted then. He was not even supposed to be up at this hour. He had _school_ tomorrow. Dexter nearly scoffed. School. Right. He thought he could handle ninth grade math, thank you. He heard walking above him, and the sound of a door opening. He stood on a table to peer out of the high basement windows. Honestly, who puts windows as wide as a textbook all the way up to a seven-foot ceiling? He saw lots of people. Every one of them looked very hostile. He watched the silhouette of his father in the light ray of the front door. He heard mumbling.

All at once, the neighbors started shouting, no doubt concerning the wake-up call. An old lady with a pair of blinding pajamas threatened to call the police. Again. Dexter winced. Not another search. They had come before, looking over the house from top to bottom, as though the family was hiding pipe-bombs or C4, planning to attack the mayor or something. His father's shadow raised its hands, looking tired even then. The neighbors accepted this less than graciously. Walking away, muttering under their breath, the angry mob retreated back to their homes. The front door closed. Dexter jumped off of the table, waiting for the inevitable. It wasn't a long wait.

"LIGHT. OFF." The command from upstairs came. Dexter practically flew to the switch, listening to his father's retreating footsteps. One…two…three…four…silence. Dexter breathed again. Shutting the basement door tightly, he turned the light back on. He walked back to the table, hopping on it to check for more unsettled neighbors. What he saw instead was a flash of moonlight on thin air. Thin air? He looked again. A pane of smooth glass seemed to seal up a wall on his neighbor's house. An entire wall of glass. That was not common in houses, certainly not houses in this neighborhood. A light was on in the room that the large window protected. Dexter could see a figure move around, flicking off a lamp. He stared for a few more seconds, wondering who lived there, then he, too, headed upstairs to bed. After all, it was a _school_ night.


	3. Chapter 3: Katrina's Rival

**Normally, this would signal chapter two, the little date right there, but instead, I shortened it even more, just to save your fingers all that clicking/scrolling.**

**April 18, 2011**

Katrina was awoken by a loud, insistent, highly annoying sound. _Beep, beep, beep, beep…_Removing the eye mask, she quickly located the source: a small, round, orange-colored alarm clock. Katrina slammed her hand on the "sleep" button with more force than was necessary. The beeping stopped mid-whine. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she flicked on a light, taking care to look away. When her eyes had adjusted, it took all she had to stop herself from screaming in frustration. Today was the day. School. _Public_ school, no less. Rolling out of bed, not bothering to make it, she marched to the closet, knowing there was no way to get out of her predicament. She yanked the outfit off of its hanger, pulling it on so quickly she might have ripped it if it were not new. She ran a brush through her hair, more slowly, trying to waste as much time as possible. Pulling it into her characteristic bun, she applied mascara the way her aunt had shown her. Eye open, brush to lash, blink slowly, repeat. What followed the first step in the makeup ritual was, of course, black eyeliner, lavender eye shadow, and pink lip gloss. Katrina Silver did not like pink, but she could not wear red with this outfit, and she would not wear orange or purple. There were just some things you didn't do.

Not bothering to apply blush, as it always made her look like a clown with her pale face, Katrina slipped on her new shoes, hating how they felt. She knew all shoes were uncomfortable until you broke them in. That did not make it any more bearable. Dragging herself downstairs, she was greeted by a plate of eggs and toast, a glass of apple juice, and a neat stack of school books. Not to mention a dancing Aunt Felicia.

"Aunt Felicia, what are you doing?" Katrina asked.

"Dancing, sweetheart," Felicia replied, her back to her niece, "I would have thought it was obvious," Katrina managed to crack a smile.

"Maybe I'll teach you how to _dance_ dance. Not all that silly hopping around all the kids seem to be doing these days." Felicia said, turning around to put a tub of butter on the kitchen table. Katrina's smile disappeared. No dancing for her. Ever. She sat, gazing at her pile of books. She was positive that whatever they held was more than likely already common knowledge to her.

"Why do I need these?" she asked, pointing at the books. Felicia gave her a sympathetic smile.

"They're required, dear. I tried to talk them out of it, but they said it was simply not possible that you are the way you are. Something about 'not another one' and then the nice vice principal took a handful of what looked like loopy pills," "Loopy pills" was what Aunt Felicia called anxiety pills used to prevent nervous breakdowns. Being a nurse, she should know. Katrina nodded. Understandably, it would be hard to project upon people exactly the type of girl she was. Heaven knows how difficult it was back home. Even then, nobody _really _believed it. Anyone could do anything with some money and a good memory.

"What time am I supposed to be there?" she asked.

"I don't know. The bus will get you there when it gets you there." Aunt Felicia replied, buttering a slice of toast. Katrina nearly choked on her apple juice.

"Bus? School bus?" she spluttered. Aunt Felicia looked up.

"Yes, of course. I have to drop off Sammy at daycare, Uncle Jerry needs to go to work, and in about thirty minutes, so will I." She said it in such a way that left no room for discussion. Before Katrina could respond, Mrs. Silver gulped down her toast, shoved the school books into her niece's arms, and pushed her out the door.

"Bus stop. Now," she directed, pointing down the street, "You've got five minutes." The door closed. Katrina stared at it for a few seconds.

"Not a bus," she whispered. Katrina did not like public transportation. There were so many people that rode school buses. Horribly loud, obnoxious, idiotic, and possibly disease-ridden people rode those things. Screaming elementary school students. Awkward, dirty middle-school kids. Then, there was high school. Bad-mouthing, wannabe bad-asses with nothing better to do than laze around, preying on smaller students, or, on the opposite side of the tracks so to speak, the smaller students hoping today would not be their day to play victim. Katrina folded her arms in front of her books and began to walk down the street. She cast a side-long glance at the house that glowed in the dark last night. Then she paid it no more mind.

She walked, not passing anyone else. Katrina briefly wondered if the bus even came to her neighborhood, Northwood. Then she realized it would hardly matter, as Aunt Felicia would more than likely make her walk than miss school. She noticed the clean-cut yards and perfectly trimmed bushes. Not a single leaf out of place. She didn't like it. Orderly nature simply was not natural. She also noticed that each of her neighbors' houses were different colors. A two-story with a red roof and blue siding. A brown brick house with orange shutters and a blue roof. A house so long it could have been two stories had it been tilted vertically was painted a garish yellow with pale pink shutters and an average-looking red shingle roof. Now _that_ was unnatural. It was probably Anita's

Not a single car had passed her, yet all the garages were open to the elements. Not _everyone _could have gone to work so early, right? And yet everyone was gone. She stopped looking inside garages, knowing she would appear nosy to passersby. As the street sloped steadily uphill, she got a stitch in her side. She walked as though it wasn't there. She wasn't going to look like a dork before even arriving at the school house by limping. She approached the corner of the street, spying a red stop sign accompanied by a yellow "bus stop" sign. A small group of teenagers and children already surrounded it. Some talked to each other quietly, others loudly, and some stared wearily at the ground. Then Katrina realized why all the cars were missing. A blue Sedan pulled up slowly by the curb, and a girl with ridiculously curled blonde hair stepped out, only to walk three feet to the stop sign and wave good-bye to the driver of the car. She wore expensive-looking clothing, but then, so did everyone else. Her curls were decidedly unnatural, as they stood apart, looking like a very wet wig that one might have worn in the Victorian days. Her hair might not have even been blonde, as there was so much brunette coloring at the roots. She stood with her little piggy nose in the air, looking disdainfully about her, frequently looking over in the direction Katrina lived, as though she was waiting for something. As the car pulled away, the girl stood erect on the edge of the curb. Katrina saw the Sedan drive four houses away on the opposite side of the street and park in the garage. She silently fumed. _Lazy Yankees,_ she thought.

More cars pulled up to drop off various children before Katrina heard a distant roar. Her ears twitched. Whatever made that sound must be huge. In all likelihood, it was the school bus, and Katrina could easily imagine a run-down yellow gas-guzzler chugging its way up the street. When the bus did appear, Katrina was not surprised. Swinging around the corner was a gargantuan monstrosity, and it seemed that it could not make turns or change gears without roaring or screeching. The others took a few steps away from the curb, arranging themselves into a relatively organized group. Katrina reluctantly joined them, though she stayed on the edge of the crowd. A steady pounding reached her ears. Again, they twitched, more obvious than before. Luckily no one seemed to notice, as they were all too busy looking at the oncoming bus.

As it turns out, another student appeared to be running to the bus stop, the pounding being the sound of shoes on pavement. Katrina casually turned. All it took was a flash of red hair and Katrina knew who was late. Out of breath, Dexter appeared on the scene, not two seconds before the bus pulled up. After a few moments of waiting for the others to scramble onboard, Dexter seemed to have regained oxygen. Katrina turned to him, somewhat surprised to see that he, too, rode the bus. And he walked to the bus stop, though he obviously lived over the hill, towards the Silver home, and had more reason to be dropped off than the children who needed to only walk a few yards. He glanced back.

"Katrina," he said, extending a hand. Katrina took it.

"Dexter, nice to see you again," she replied, making small talk. They quickly boarded, Katrina blocking out the sound to the best of her ability. She was completely correct. It was a hellhole. There was screaming and insults and howling laughter, and in such a small area, it seemed to be amplified. Katrina glanced at each seat. One boy grinned stupidly at her, finger up his nose. _Absolutely _not, Katrina thought. Another seat was completely covered by one very large girl. No chance there, even if the girl was pleasant to be around. She kept walking, passing three Goth kids, two dorks, four jocks, and about six preps. In seat 14, the girl with the blonde curls glared at Katrina. Katrina glared back. The blonde girl stuck her tongue out at Katrina. Miss Silver just moved along. What response was there really for an uncalled-for, sudden, hostile attitude from a stranger?

The bus lurched forward before she could properly seat herself, and she nearly toppled to the floor. Instead, she turned, hitting a cushioned seat and bounced backwards to land in an empty seat on her back. Trying to keep the red out of her face, Katrina sat up, ignoring the laughter. She slid to the window, shoving the little plugs of her iPod's headphones into her ears and turning Brad Paisley up as loud as she could without damaging her eardrums. "Whiskey Lullaby". Not exactly an inspirational song to start her first day of school. The bus pulled away, jostling Katrina. Her scalp tingled. She was being watched. Katrina looked up, seeing no one other than the blonde girl. But Miss Blondie wasn't looking at Katrina. Rather, beside her. At a particular red-head. Dexter looked up at Katrina. She turned her music down to catch what he was saying.

"You won't mind my sitting here, will you?" he asked. Katrina shook her head.

"Of course not," Dexter cast a quick, furtive glance at the girl in seat 14.

"Good, that makes the bus ride considerably more bearable." Katrina looked out the window as he picked up a book. "Whiskey Lullaby" had ended, replaced by "Concrete Angel". Honestly, what up with the sad songs? She flicked her iPod's screen out of the "lock" state, shuffling through her songs, eventually deciding on "Clones" by Ash. It was a mind-numbing beat, and thinking would not help her nerves. The song was perfect. Katrina barely lifted her arm in time to stop herself from crashing into the seat in front of her as the bus lurched to a stop. Katrina fixated her eyes on the neatly clipped lawns surrounding the houses, not wanting to stare at the kid who had just gotten on. _Must have missed his ride to his ride_, she thought sarcastically. And yet even she could sense the tension on the bus. She heard someone stomp onto the bus, march down the aisle, and sit at least three seats behind them to their left. She glanced sideways. Dexter was glaring into his book. Katrina unplugged an ear.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Anger was rolling off of him in waves.

"I'm fine," he answered. Katrina frowned.

"People who are 'fine' usually don't strangle their books," she pointed out, "Unless you've had some sort of muscle spasm, something has made you visibly upset," She really was a very nosy girl. It was one of her worst qualities. She waited for an answer.

"I hate public transportation," he said eventually. It was an answer, but not the one Katrina wanted. It was too vague. She nodded anyway.

"It's hard dealing with instant hostility, if you know what I mean," Katrina said, glancing at the back of Miss Blondie's head, "That's what bugs me. Well, that, and the fact that, as the new girl, I stick out like a cat in a dog pen." She twanged unwillingly, a Southern saying slipping out. Katrina pursed her lips together, hoping to God no one picked up on that. No hope for the hopeless. Four people turned at the sound of her voice, alien in their little town. Katrina sat back, hunched over.

"Dang it," she muttered. Dexter only chuckled. Katrina glared at him.

"It's not funny; I'm trying to be inconspicuous here!" she hissed.

"The only way you could be inconspicuous is if you became mute," he replied.

"Look who's talkin'" she shot back. Dexter shrugged.

"People are somewhat used to me. But like you said, you're a cat in a dog pen," he tried his hand at a Southern accent. Katrina wrinkled her nose, smiling.

"Do me a favor," she said, "never do that again." He nodded.

"It's surprisingly more difficult than I expected," he said.

"You weren't born with it, that's all. You would be surprised at how many people are country singers without actually being from the south. In interviews, they've got accents that are unbelievable, and yet they sing country music anyway. But my family knows who is who and what is what." She said. Not that it bugged her that people from all over sang country music. It was just odd to hear them sing one way and talk in a different way. Dexter raised an eyebrow.

"Country music? You really listen to that?" He seemed mildly surprised. Katrina tried to keep a straight face.

"Yes," she replied, "but not all that twangy, slurry, unintelligible stuff about drinking and whatnot. Why so surprised?" Dexter shrugged again.

"Country music isn't that big of a hit here. I didn't want to be stereotypical by assuming you listened to it," He replied. Katrina understood. She was probably the only one who could play the fiddle, let alone sing Charlie Daniels's songs.

"And do you know what? I haven't seen a single truck here. My uncle's is probably the only one within twinnee miles," she didn't try to stop her voice from changing. People were going to have to get used to it.

"That's true. There are no trucks nearby; small family cars and minivans mostly. And, well, these," Dexter said, indicating the bus they were on.

"Why do some students ride to the bus stop when they could walk and it wouldn't take 'em thirty seconds?" Katrina asked, remembering how odd it was to see six or seven small cars make a round-trip from the stop sign to their own garages. Dexter shrugged again.

"For someone who lives here, you sure don't know a whole lot." Katrina said.

"I'm not very sociable," he admitted.

"I'm not either. It doesn't help that I keep getting daggers from Miss Curly-Q over there," Katrina dipped her head in the direction of Miss Blondie. Dexter followed her gaze before turning away quickly.

"Katherine," he muttered. Katrina had a question in her eyes. She hoped it wasn't too obvious.

"From the tone of your voice, I assume you're not too fond of her?" she asked. Dexter gave a minute nod.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's insane," he said bluntly, "utterly crazy. And yet she managed to earn a spot in the Gifted Classes." Katrina's ears picked up those two words. Gifted Classes. What Gifted Classes?

"What?" she asked, sincerely curious, "Gifted what?"

"Gifted Classes," Dexter replied, looking back at Katherine.

"My aunt didn't mention any Gifted Classes," Katrina said, suspicious. Dexter smiled a bitter smile.

"Doubtful she even knows they exist. They won't show up on any school pamphlet, or mentioned at PTA meetings. There's only the three of us in there. We don't really learn anything, save foreign languages. Really, it's one big competition. We-" He was interrupted by a suddenly confused Katrina.

"The three of you? Who's the third?" Dexter scowled. He nodded behind him, not bothering to turn around. Katrina craned her neck, holding it at an awkward angle. It wasn't all that difficult to spot him. He stared straight ahead, and had a very pointy face. He had strange looking glasses that reminded Katrina of her late grandmother's reading glasses. He was frowning. A distinct frown that seemed evident in every inch of his pale face. He had a neat haircut, in all fairness, and his hair was raven black, and he had a very strange outfit on. It resembled a school uniform, though a quick glance around proved that no one else was wearing anything similar. Katrina sat back. She didn't get to ask who that was.

"Mandark," Dexter growled. Katrina was taken aback at the hostility in his voice.

"Mandark? What kind of name is that?" Katrina asked, trying to lighten the mood. Dexter did not laugh. So Katrina stopped trying. But eventually she did have another question.

"So, it's just you three? What did you do to be put in a secret class?" Katrina was trying to get the conversation going again. It helped her nerves to have someone to talk to. Dexter nodded, looking back at her.

"Well, if you pass the test, you'll know what we had to do. If you don't it would be best to forget all about. I should not have brought it up in the first place." Katrina was getting frustrated.

"What, do I have to be smarter than everyone else?" she asked an edge in her voice.

"Smarter? You have to be able to understand things years beyond high school. You have to be a prodigy. If what you said yesterday was true, then you shouldn't have too much of a problem." Dexter told her, a challenge beyond his glasses. Katrina frowned.

"I wasn't exaggerating. I believe I can handle whatever test the school throws at me." Katrina's accent had disappeared. It would have been one of her dramatic moments, had she seen the stop coming up. The bus driver slammed the brakes to the floor, bringing the bus to a halt. Katrina went head-first into the seat in front of her. When she pushed herself back into a sitting position, she jammed her headphones in her ears, listening to Brad Paisley again. She would be as silent as the grave and twice as foreboding. She was done talking. But it wasn't long before she felt someone tap her shoulder. She yanked out an earplug, turning to her seating partner. He looked slightly apologetic, and Katrina managed to get her temper under control. He glanced at her iPod.

"May I?" he asked. Katrina pulled out her headphones and handed the little device over. Dexter scanned the list of songs. He asked questions every once in a while.

"What is this song about?" he asked once, stopping on "The Devil Went Down to Georgia".

"It's a story, really. It's one of my favorites. I can play it on the fiddle." Katrina replied, barely glancing at the screen.

"You mean violin," Dexter said, not looking up.

"No, fiddle," Katrina insisted, "There is a difference, though it's the same instrument. The drums, songs, beat, tempo, and even the pitches can define a violin into, well, a violin or a fiddle." She smiled slightly.

"The funny thing is, I can't play the violin just as itself. It sounds like a cat being dragged by its tail." She admitted. She let him scroll a bit more.

"Taylor Swift?" he inquired. Katrina shrugged.

"I don't like her, but her songs are okay. As long as she's not singing live." Katrina added very seriously. Dexter smiled.

"She's that bad?"

"Let's just say I would never spend ninety-nine cents on a recorded live performance."

"The Dixie Chicks?"

"I grew up with them,"

"The Zac Brown Band… '_Chicken Fried'_?"

"Hey, don't hate."

"Whiskey Lullaby…"

"… I love that song…"

"Tim McGraw, Carrie Underwood, Laura Bell Bundy, Trace Adkins, Rascal Flatts, and… who's Charlie Daniels?" Katrina could barely hide a disbelieving laugh. In the part of the state where she came from, _everyone_ knew Charlie Daniels.

"Charlie Daniels is the King of Country. He _wrote_ and played the fiddle for "The Devil Went Down to Georgia". He's where I got my inspiration to even pick up that dang instrument." Katrina explained. Dexter gave her iPod back.

"Quite a collection," he commented.

"That's just the country play list."

"I'll have to find those songs sometime, to listen to them myself," Katrina made a small outburst of laughter, a single _ha!_

"Ten to one says that you won't like it until you listen to the lyrics. Really listen, I mean. Country music isn't exactly the happiest choice out there, but it's worth listening to."

"I'll never know 'till I try."

"Good philosophy," The bus came to another screeching halt. But Katrina was ready for it. She shot her arm out, catching herself before she met the plastic covering of the seat. Again.

"Look who is catching on," said a very snotty voice from in front of her. Katrina's gaze looked up to see badly done curls and a sickeningly sweet smile. The girl stuck out her hand. Katrina looked at it suspiciously.

"I'm sorry about my behavior earlier. I'm just not fond of newcomers. But you seem very _nice._" She practically hissed the word as she glanced down at Dexter, who was still seated. Miss Silver did not believe for a second that the pepped-up girl was telling the truth. Katrina grudgingly took the hand, and the girl nearly broke her wrist in her over-excited hand-shake.

"I'm Katherine, by the way. Katherine Lane. But of course, you knew that." Katrina shook her head. How would she know that?

"No?" Katherine asked, not doing a very good job of faking surprise, "Well, it's to be expected, dear. Where are you from? Texas? Alabama?"

"Georgia," Katrina replied, mentally warning herself to stay calm. She sensed an insult. Katherine nodded.

"Yes, well, we all know how televisions are hard to come by down there." Katrina's mind went blank. What? TVs are not hard to come by! She happened to have a very nice TV that she brought with her, thank you very much,

"But I'm sure your father does his best to keep the cows in the barn. You do know who your father is, don't you?" Katherine continued tauntingly. Katrina resisted the urge to slap her. Her father had been a family man. He had never once even considered leaving to Katrina's knowledge. This girl was full of stereotypes. Barns with cows, broken up families, a lack of electricity. Katrina had a few choice words for this particular snot. Katherine beamed. It was tinged with malice.

"Oh, we're going to be best friends, I just know it." She gave Katrina a bone-crushing hug. The red-headed girl had a sneaking suspicion that the hug was meant to hurt. Students were filing off the bus during their entire conversation. Only a few remained. Dexter got up and walked down the aisle, glancing back at the two girls. Katrina raised a hand in good-bye, and Dexter nodded, making the crazy signal and pointing at Katherine. Then he was gone. Katherine and Katrina were the only two left. Katherine's smile vanished. She shoved Katrina back, releasing her from the death-grip.

"Now you listen and you listen well, you redneck hillbilly. I can break you down. I can make this school a living hell for you if you don't do exactly as I say." She got right up in Katrina's face, eyes sparking.

"Keep your pig-slopping, hay-bailing, catfish-catching claws off of him," she growled, "You are to go about your business, and not speak until spoken to. But you are never to speak to him again. Ever. I have worked too hard for too long to get as close to him as I am, and I am not about to let some Southern hussy waltz in here and snatch him away. Besides, he's much too classy for the likes of you," she sneered, voice never rising above a heated whisper. Katrina's eyes were huge, she was sure, and she was too surprised to have her eyes change color. Katherine, seemingly satisfied, strutted down the aisle and off the bus, leaving Katrina to gather her things and follow in a shocked stupor.


	4. Chapter 4: Gifted

**Okay, I REALLY need more reviews. My self-confidence is taking a serious blow here. I based Katherine on a wannabe Plastic at my school. I even stole her name. **

Katrina had been given a locker, number 409, and had been instructed to put all personal belongings and books that were not needed for the first two periods in the tiny metal box. Katrina took four purple heart-shaped stickers and stuck a picture of her mother, father, sister, and herself on the metal door. Underneath that, she applied a picture of Aunt Felicia, Uncle Jeremy, and Sammy at their recent trip to Six Flags in Atlanta. She also put a few pictures of various friends from her old private school in different spots. Then she put a magnetic notepad in the only space left available on the door. She shoved all of her books in, or, at least, those that she didn't need at the moment, and proceeded to write a memo on her little notepad.

_Katherine Lane: Discover weakness/destroy_

One thing about Katrina: she was determined. Another thing: she did not take kindly to open threats of hostility. This Katherine girl had become an enemy. And school had only just started. Katrina stood up, as she had a lower row locker, and brushed the dirt off of her jeans. She snapped her lock closed, silently applying her own special iris-scanner. She had managed to grab this and keep it safe before the move. She had intended to put it on the front door of the new house, but then Aunt Felicia sprung school on her, so protecting a few personal items worked too. She wired it up, connecting the magnetic ends to the metal surface of the lock. The iris-scanner would eventually blend in to the navy blue coloring, and its battery was good for three months. The best part, all she had to do was casually glance at it. None of that holding-your-eye-open junk. Completely undetectable. She gathered up her two notebooks and one large textbook. Pre-calculus. Whatever. She decided to answer the questions and do the work, but not really read or pay attention to the teacher.

She planned on finding her homeroom on her own, and silently blending in. However, the assistant principal had a different way of doing things.

"Miss…er… Gold?" he said, "accidentally" running into her in the commons area. The man was fat. Very, very fat. He had a thick gray mustache that grew from a pig-like nose, and ears that stuck out a mile. A nametag clipped to his collared shirt read "Peter Gage, V.P." Katrina noticed that he was and awkward man. The way he walked, the way he talked, even the way he dressed. As though he needed his mother's assistance.

"Silver, actually," Katrina corrected.

"Miss Silver! Welcome to Lincoln High! I trust you have received your schedule and locker?" Katrina nodded, and she was soon strangled by an arm thrown around her shoulder.

"Excellent!" the large man cried, "Allow me to show you to your classroom," Katrina shook her head in the confined space.

"Really, sir, I've already memorized the class schedule and room numbers," Katrina said, trying to pull away. The vice principal got a very funny look on his face. The he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill bottle. Katrina thought these must be the loopy pills her aunt had talked about. The man downed two pills without water. He looked back at her, bright and happy.

"Oh, no-no-no-no-no," he said, "it's completely impossible for you to have memorized the entire day schedule when you got it only two minutes ago." Katrina frowned, partly because she was upset at being underestimated yet again, and partly because she was confused.

"Day schedule? I received the semester schedule," she told him, holding out the yellow papers. She really had memorized everything, from the room numbers to the teachers' full names. It wasn't that difficult, and she had no idea why Mr. Gage was acting so fruity about it. The vice principal took the small packet of paper, and he sighed a very tired sigh. Without speaking and looking very nervous, he ushered Katrina to the front office, where he ordered her to sit, and he himself disappeared into the principal's office. Mumbling and occasional shouting was all she heard. When someone eventually emerged, it was the principal, as Katrina could easily tell from his name tag, which said "Principal Matthew Anders". Principal Anders was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and he was very imposing. He stared down at her with a clean-shaven head and squinty eyes. In a gray suit and blue tie, he reminded her of a CIA agent. Or a neatly dressed drill sergeant.

"Silver!" he barked. Katrina instinctively stood up, standing straight. He thrust a large packet of papers her way. Four inches thick. The paper had no title. It was completely blank on the first page. Flipping through it, she was surprised to find a few incomplete instruction manuals, whole essays written in French, Swahili, Chinese, and Arabic, and math problems pages long. The stack weighed heavily in her arms.

"You've got one hour. _One._ I want as much of that test completed as possible and on my DESK AT EXACTLY 9:04!" his voice was rising, and Katrina involuntarily cringed. She was shown to the door, and it slammed behind her, rustling her shirt. She dashed to the library, thanking God that she had decided to remember the library's location as well as the classrooms. She opened one of the double doors. Two students sat hunched over keyboards and an old man was scanning books behind a counter. She rushed up to him. He glanced over his stack of hardbacks, noticing the girl's considerable cargo. He gave her a sympathetic smile, and pointed a crooked finger to a round table near the center of the room. Katrina sat down, pulled a sharpened no. 2 pencil out of her purse, and began to write. She was asked to describe the mechanics of a maglev train. In Latin. She was given algorithms that took a few minutes to solve each. She sat and translated Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ in Greek, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese. Of course, she would have to recite the entire thing in English first.

A small package replaced the last page of the test. Inside, there were a few bits and pieces of what Katrina suspected to be a small clock. A slip of paper was clipped to a gear:

**Build**

It was simple and to the point. Katrina picked up the gears and springs, giving them a quick once over. She started to piece the little gizmo together. It was, in fact, a clock, and by the time she had assembled it, it was a very nice-looking device indeed. She looked up at the face of the clock after inserting the batteries, and set the time according to what was on the digital clock above the library door.

"Nine…oh…clock…" she droned, winding the little dials on the bottom of the device. She nearly had a seizure as she realized the importance of the time. She snatched her pencil, purse, test, and clock and dashed out of the library, practically sprinting to the front office. She burst through the doors, slamming into Principal Anders. In all fairness, she recovered quickly.

"Principal Anders," she said, keeping her voice level. She presented her assignment. Anders snatched them away. He grunted and led Katrina to his office, where she was again instructed to sit. She waited what seemed like ages as Anders checked her answers and the answers programmed into his computer. After that, he banged the little clock on the edge of his desk and checked the time repeatedly. Probably expecting it to implode or something. He then timed Katrina's clock with a professional timer. Synchronized to the nanosecond. He put the chrome device on a shelf, where three other identical clocks sat gathering dust. He pressed a button on the PA system microphone.

"Mr. Chavers," he growled, gravelly tones undoubtedly echoing in some room Katrina had not yet seen, "We've got another one." Katrina gulped. She did not like the sound of his voice when he said that. Principal Anders instructed her to stand outside his office door, and to "try and look less like a hooligan". Katrina redid her bun, which had practically fallen apart in her haste to make it to the front office, and straightened her shirt and pants. She held her books on her hip, trying to give the illusion of being perfectly at ease. She pulled it off quite convincingly. But inside she was panicking. Katrina was not usually left in the dark. She had been surprised only once, and it had been on that infamous September day. So naturally, one could assume that the girl was not fond of surprises. This was no different, though it may have slightly less fatal consequences.

Suddenly, a small, portly man entered the room. He had thinning brown hair and a bulbous nose, with large owl eyes that seemed larger with his thick glasses. He wore a plain brown suit with a green and yellow striped tie. He seemed to be out of breath, as though he had run all the way to the front office from wherever he came from. He probably did. He approached the teenager, hand outstretched. Katrina shook it, forcing a small smile.

"Mister…Chavers… at your… service…" the man panted. Katrina allowed him a few seconds to catch his breath and use an inhaler before introducing herself.

"Ka-"

"Katrina Fiore Silver, age fifteen, born July second, 1995 in Atlanta, Georgia. Parents: Doctor Everett Silver and Maria Klime Silver, with one sister, Alyssa Jade Silver." Mr. Chavers interrupted monotonously. Katrina stared blankly at him. Mr. Chavers showed her a fax paper.

"Your biography was sent not two minutes ago." Katrina felt her face fall, though she tried to prevent it.

"I'm afraid your information is wrong, Mr. Chavers. My family-"

"Died in the flood of 2010, I know, dear. I'm so, so sorry about your loss." The man looked very sincere, and Katrina felt her heart break all over again. Mr. Chavers, a family man through-and-through, wrapped the sad child in a bear hug that lasted but seconds. She did not want to be rude, so she allowed him to do so, though she did not return the show of sympathy.

"It will be alright my dear. You have got a bright future ahead of you." He took her arm and led her away, down the hall. Katrina wrestled with her emotions, forcing them to hide in the back of her mind. Mr. Chavers led the way down A, B, and C halls before taking a sharp turn to the left. A door almost completely hidden away appeared out of nowhere. It had been painted to match the wall perfectly. Mr. Chavers told Katrina to stand back. He stepped on two particular floor tiles, holding one eye open to a regular-looking nail attached to the wall, and placed a hand on the doorframe. Silently, three locks turned on to let the regular-looking wooden door swing open. Before them was a classroom big enough to rival the Air and Space Museum in the Smithsonian. Katrina could not stop her mouth from falling open. Katrina and Mr. Chavers appeared to be on some sort of platform, at least a story above the floor of the "classroom". Gigantic machines with strange attachments filled one side of the room, while a large greenhouse covered another. Work tables and benches and computers lined the walls. The whole room seemed to buzz with electricity. In the very center, surrounded by the organized chaos, three student-sized desks sat in what could have been a square had there been one more desk to fill in the lower left-hand corner. At the head was a long oak desk, covered in papers and a laptop, a few textbooks, and one simple name-card set in a plastic holder. Mr. Chavers's desk. In the other three desks, there were three familiar people.

From Katrina's vantage point, she could clearly see Katherine, checking her hair and, if you could believe it, re-curling it, making them even more like octopus legs than they were before. The boy, Mandark, was hunched over a strange-looking device, occasionally writing down notes on a piece of paper. Dexter sat in the back row, his book in his hand. But he was not reading. He was looking straight up at Mr. Chavers and Katrina. He waved. Katrina thought she could make out a smug smile on his face. Well, he _had _told her she would make it if she were telling the truth. She waved back. Mr. Chavers pressed a button on a control panel on the wall, and Katrina tilted as the platform floor dropped like an elevator. She realized the entire room was underground, noticing the drop in pressure.

Mr. Chavers looked from Katrina to Dexter, then back to Katrina.

"You know each other?" he asked, genuinely surprised. Katrina shrugged.

"He's my neighbor," she said, following Mr. Chavers to the desks. He pulled a remote out of his pants pocket. Pressing a bright yellow button, he instructed Katrina to move out of the way. She barely had time to before a square robot zoomed out of nowhere carrying a standard metal desk. Katrina tried to observe its mechanics, but the robot was dismissed shortly after aligning the desk perfectly. She watched it go. Mr. Chavers chuckled.

"You'll get used to it, my dear," he said.

"It's been awhile," Katrina admitted, thinking about the last time she had constructed a Silver Bullet. It must have been, what, four months? Mr. Chavers whistled.

"A while? You'll fit in around here, that's for sure! Well sit down, sit down! No sense in standing up all day when there is a perfectly good desk in front of you," Mr. Chavers said good-naturedly. Katrina complied, placing her books in the shelf underneath the desktop. By now, the other two had noticed her. Mandark merely glanced back before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Katherine glared murderously under her heavily make-upped eyelids. Katrina glared back, remembering her memo. Dexter caught the exchange of looks. He leaned towards Katrina.

"I'm impressed. Two hours and you already have an enemy." Katrina turned to him, trying not to smile. The she decided, for Katherine's sake, she would not only smile, but laugh. She giggled slightly, and caught Katherine's shocked and angry intake of breath. Mr. Chavers clapped his hands, interrupting before the two girls could really say anything to one another.

"Well, everyone," he said as though he was addressing a full classroom and not four students, "This is Katrina Silver. She'll be joining our happy family," Katrina tensed as the other three turned to her, surprise on their faces, ranging from well-hidden to obvious.

"Katrina _Silver_?" Katherine hissed, "The orphan?" Katrina swallowed her anger. Her eyes grew considerably darker, however.

"Wasn't your dad Doctor Silver, the man who researched various types of cancers?" Mandark asked, interested in spite of himself.

"And found the cure for two," Mr. Chavers added proudly. Katrina nodded. She avoided everyone's gaze. A few moments of silence followed, before one voice spoke up.

"He was a good man," Dexter mumbled self-consciously. Mr. Chavers nodded. Katherine grunted, unhappy that Katrina was receiving all the attention. Mandark turned awkwardly back to his work.

"Thank you," Katrina said. Mr. Chavers nearly caused Katrina and everyone else to have a heart-attack as he clapped his hands together again.

"Well, Miss Silver, undoubtedly you would like to know who you're going to be spending the rest of freshman year with," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He indicated Dexter.

"That, as you may know, is Dexter McPherson," Dexter nodded. Mr. Chavers pointed at Mandark.

"Mandark Astronominov," he turned to Katherine, "and Kath-"

"We've already met," Katherine said, grinning sweetly at Mr. Chavers. He nodded.

"Well, Katrina, we're in this class not to learn, but to sharpen our skills. These three here had no problem with mechanics and mathematics and biology, but hit a few bumps in foreign languages, whereas you received a perfect score. Save math, you would have had a perfect 800," he said proudly, as though Katrina was his own daughter. Katrina blushed and quickly chastised herself for it.

"So, you're going to work on mathematics for the next week, after which you'll receive a short exam to see what you're still struggling with." Mr. Chavers instructed. He passed Katrina a small workbook. She opened it up. Receiving no further instructions, she whipped out a pencil as Mr. Chavers walked back to his desk.

Solve each equation and check for extraneous solutions:

The square root of _w_-3= the square root of 4_w_+15

Katrina quickly scribbled down the answer, suddenly very self-conscious of her math skills.

_No solution._

And so it went until Katrina was thoroughly bored. Anyone would be bored, really, after three hours of nothing but math. She had taken to doodling on her desk with her eraser. A folded piece of paper plunked on her desk. Katrina did not look up. She was a teenage girl. She knew what a note was when she saw it. She slid it off of her desk and into her lap, watching Mr. Chavers carefully as she unfolded it.

**You look completely bored.**

It said. Katrina scribbled down a reply:

_Is it that obvious? Yes, I am._

She skillfully flicked it to her right, knowing it would land safely. She waited a few seconds before she heard it land again. She cast a casual glance upwards. Mr. Chavers seemed to be absorbed in a particular piece of paper. She quietly unfolded the note.

**Would you like a book?**

_Shoot yeah. I'm about to die over here._

A few moments and some rustling later, a small book landed on the metal desktop. _Gone With the Wind. _Katrina pulled the note out from between the first two pages.

**Even though you can recite it, I thought it would interest you more than **

**Madame Curie's biography. **

_You would be correct._

Katrina picked up the book, knowing what it would say before she even read it. Then the note landed on her desk. She smiled to herself. Unfolding it, she knew immediately that Dexter had not written the note.

**I warned you.**

Katrina promptly ripped the note up. She glanced sideways, catching Dexter's confused look. She shook her head slightly. Then she turned to face the hate-filled blue eyes of Katherine. Katherine turned around slowly, a nasty smirk on her face. She raised her hand. Mr. Chavers looked up instantly.

"Yes, Katherine?" he asked. It was not every day he was asked a question in his class. Katherine poked out her bottom lip in a pathetic pout.

"Oh, Mr. Chavers, I'm desperately trying to learn Swahili, only Katrina keeps trying to pass notes to Dexter. Oh, but he hasn't responded," she added quickly, in a falsely defensive voice. Mandark scoffed.

"I doubt that," he muttered. Mr. Chavers looked seriously at Katrina.

"Miss Silver," he said, "I certainly hope this is some sort of mistake," Katrina opened her mouth and closed it repeatedly. No words came out. Katrina had never lied to a teacher. She didn't intend to start now. But she couldn't get in trouble on her first day. Aunt Felicia would skin her alive. Luckily, Katrina didn't have to say anything.

"There is no note, sir," Dexter said. Katrina cast him a sidelong glance. Mr. Chavers stood and approached Dexter.

"Stand up, son," he said. Dexter stood as Mr. Chavers checked his desk cubby, book bag, textbooks, and pockets for the note. He did not find anything remotely incriminating. Dexter sat back down, and Mr. Chavers moved on to Katrina. After a similar search, Mr. Chavers shook his head.

"I see no note, Katherine," he said, "you must have been mistaken," Katherine's mouth dropped open like a catfish's.

"N-no! It's there!" Katherine insisted, standing up. Mr. Chavers put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down.

"It's alright, dear. We all make mistakes," he said comfortingly. Katherine was shaking. Mr. Chavers thought it was with embarrassment, but Katrina knew it was with anger.

"_I_ don't make mistakes," Mandark said haughtily. Dexter laughed in disbelief. Mandark turned to give him a glare similar to the one Katherine was giving Katrina. The two red-heads met their gazes evenly, both feeling very proud that they had not been discovered.

At lunch time, the group headed to the cafeteria. Katrina was surprised to find it completely empty. She glanced at the hall clock: 1:10. They were an hour later than every other freshman class. Katrina purchased her lunch, following Dexter to a nearby circular table.

"What did you do with the note?" she whispered around an apple. Dexter looked around for anyone who could be listening. Katherine sat at a distant table (occasionally glancing their way), and Mandark another.

"I shredded it…" he began, turning red, "then ate it." Katrina could not stifle a laugh.

"You _ate_ it! You're sneakier 'n a fox in a hen house."

"Don't laugh. Desperate times call for desperate measures." Katrina managed to subdue her laughter, though she still smiled.

"That was quick thinking. I appreciate it," she said honestly. Dexter smiled.

"I don't like her anymore than you do. Speaking of which, what was on that note she gave you?" Katrina's smile slowly vanished. She picked at her plate of mashed potatoes. Dexter poked her arm.

"I believe I asked a question," he said. Katrina sighed. She told him, barely moving her lips in case someone could read them. Dexter seemed confused.

"Warned you? About what?" Katrina recounted the scene on the bus. Dexter's face got redder as the tale went on. Partially with anger, but mostly embarrassment.

"You were totally right. She's a complete nut." Katrina said, stabbing her broccoli angrily. Dexter adjusted his glasses, taking a mouthful of pork chop. He swallowed.

"I told you," he said, not smiling. Katrina gazed at him steadily.

"You conveniently left out the part about how she was completely obsessed with you." Dexter gazed back.

"Would you have believed me?" he asked, voice even.

"Yes," Katrina said simply. She was immediately embarrassed by how honest her answer was. Dexter didn't seem to hear.

"What do you plan to do about her?"

"So far, I plan on finding out her weakness,"

"And after that?"

"… I got nuthin',"

"I'm glad to see you thought it through,"

"I've only been here a day!" Katrina said defensively. Dexter pointed to the clock.

"Not even. Five hours, really. And school doesn't end until three." Katrina sighed heavily, dropping her head to the table with a loud _thunk_. She mumbled something to the polished wood.

"I didn't catch that," said Dexter. Katrina looked up, resting her chin on the table.

"I said, 'This is my hell,'" she repeated, gesturing around her. She crossed her arms defiantly.

"Why do we even have to come to school? Doubtless we could teach the teachers." Dexter shook his head.

"Society wouldn't accept it. Children are still supposed to be seen, not heard. Teenagers that could hack into the FBI aren't going to be welcomed with open arms. Have you noticed Principal Anders?" he asked, pushing his tray away. Katrina nodded, rolling her eyes.

"He's from the Secret Service. He was put here, not to be principal of a regular school, but to keep an eye on us. Vice Principal Gage is the one in charge of Lincoln High. Principal Anders is more-"

"Of a prison warden?" Katrina finished. He nodded.

"And we're the prisoners," Katrina smirked.

"I wish our cellmates were a little more agreeable." She said, flicking her green eyes at the other two.

"Personally, I would prefer gang members to a-"

"Crazy psycho,"

"And a-"

"Snot wad?" Dexter grinned.

"A what?" He asked. Katrina shrugged.

"It was a popular saying where I come from. We have so many insults that were just randomly put together. Like _kurwa_, only used as a term of endearment," Dexter's hands froze on the milk carton he was opening.

"Isn't that the Polish word for-"

"Yep," Katrina said, not allowing him to finish. She picked up her tray and walked towards the back of the cafeteria, where the trashcans were. She dumped the disposable tray and food waste in, brushing her hands off on a napkin. She turned on her heel, ready to walk back to the table. She froze mid-step, causing her footing to slip. She landed on her knees, staring at a positively giddy Katherine. She sat at the table, in Katrina's seat, trying to engage Dexter in conversation. He paid her no mind, and instead got up to help Katrina, who was still sitting on the floor. Katherine audibly growled when the boy helped Katrina up by her elbow.

"Thanks," she said, not looking at him. Having silently decided not to return to their old table, the two agreed to sit somewhere else. Preferably as far away from Katherine as possible. They sat underneath the school's banner, a burgundy and white strip of cloth with an axe between "Lincoln" and "High" in the name "Lincoln High School. Go Warriors!". No sooner had they sat down when Katherine popped up out of nowhere, grinning like a madwoman. She plunked herself right next to Katrina.

"Hey guys! What's up?" she asked brightly. Katrina glared at the fake blonde.

"What do you want, Katherine?" Katrina snapped, a little louder than she intended. Katherine looked sincerely hurt. _One would have been fooled, if one were_ _a three year old_, Katrina thought scathingly.

"Why Katrina, whatever happened to that adorable little… oh, what is it called…. Sutherin hos-pital-i-tay?" she drawled poorly. Katrina winced at the blatant disrespect. Katherine smiled. She had found a weak point. She turned to Dexter, pouting.

"I'm sorry about that little incident in class. It was just a joke, I didn't mean for it to go so far. I never meant to get anyone in trouble." From the way she said it, not once even glancing at Katrina, someone in another room could have picked up on the fact that the girl only meant to get Katrina in trouble. She put a manicured nail to her round chin.

"I could have sworn I heard a note, though. Saw one, too," She pretended to think about it. She eventually shrugged, sincerely enjoying needling her captive audience.

"Oh, well, it doesn't really matter. Why would you be passing notes to _her_?" She spat, feigning innocence. Katrina received a quick kick to the ankle with a pointed shoe when she opened her mouth to say something. Katherine did have very pointy shoes on. The young Silver was _this_ close to snapping. She was at the edge of her patience. But Katherine was not done yet. She looked slyly out of her peripheral vision, blue eyes gleaming with hate.

"It's not like she could read-" Dexter stood up, slapping his gloved hands on the table, very much like Katrina did at the restaurant. Katherine leaned back, eyes a little wider. Dexter glared at her.

"You need to leave. _Now._" Katherine frowned, her true personality showing through.

"But-" she attempted in a pathetically small voice. Dexter shook his head. Katrina stood up too, getting over her surprise rather quickly. Leaning in, she felt her eyes get darker than ever before, dark enough so that her pupils all but disappeared.

"Is this gonna be a problem, Lane?" she asked. Katherine looked from one to the other. Then she smiled.

"You can't make me do anything," she laughed. Katrina got a little closer.

"Let me ask you a question:" she snapped, so low Dexter had to strain to hear, "do you think you can take me? As snotty as you are, I bet you've never thrown a punch in your life. But I bet you've been hit before." she stared the blonde down, until Katherine stood up and strode purposefully out the cafeteria door, slamming it behind her. Katrina glanced around, saying a silent prayer of thanks that no one had paid the entire episode the least bit of attention. She sat down heavily. Dexter did the same, glaring at the door Katherine had fled through. Katrina laughed a hollow laugh.

"Calm down, sugah," she said, using her aunt's saying from the numerous times Sammy had fallen off of his tricycle. The simple sentence seemed to bring Dexter out of his anger. He stared at the ground. Katrina shifted uncomfortably. She had no idea what to say. Luckily she didn't have to say anything. Mr. Chavers stood up, blowing a whistle. A signal for the end of lunch. The three remaining students shuffled out of the large room. Mr. Chavers either did not realize that Katherine was missing, or he was pretending for the benefit of his students. _He must have seen that little spat_, Katrina thought. Though "little spat" hardly described the direct confrontation. It had almost come to blows. But Katrina Silver was no Neanderthal. Should a fight ever occur, she would have to make sure it was for the right reasons, not for a few shared insults that had gotten under her skin. Mr. Chavers led his silent students to the classroom door, performing all the necessary unlocking rituals. Katrina once again tilted slightly as the elevator platform descended. She sat at her metal desk, embarrassed for some reason. She buried her nose in a notebook crammed with… well, notes. On botany, to be exact. That one failed experiment was still there. Lots of things were crossed out and rewritten. Katrina stared without really seeing. Then she became aware of a large, brown form lurking near the corner of her desk.


	5. Chapter 5: Katrina's Guardian Angels

**I hope you like all the little back-ground characters I have in store! 3**

"Ahem. Miss Silver. May I have a word with you?" Katrina slowly closed the purple composition book and rose to follow Mr. Chavers to his desk. Her teacher sat in his leather swivel chair and stared up at her through interlocked fingers.

"Miss Silver," he said again, "You can not hope to expect that I did not see that little incident in the school's cafeteria." Katrina visibly cringed. Mr. Chavers held up a hand.

"Now, now. No need to… ah… "flip out" on me, as it were. There will need to be some form of punishment. It will not be as bad as you think. I'll need you to run these to their respective locations," he said, pushing a large stack of files and papers across his cluttered desk. Katrina held her breath to lift them up. There must have been a hundred. Mr. Chavers escorted her to the door, leading her into the school's hallway.

"I trust you memorized the school map?" Katrina nodded. Mr. Chavers shut the door quietly without another word. Katrina sighed. She shifted her heavy load, glancing at the sticky note at the top. _B. Jones. Room B118._ Katrina made her way towards tenth grade hall. Her arms were getting tired, but she was very proud, as proven before, and carried on as though she had been a personal mail delivery system her entire life. She glanced impatiently at the various names in plastic beside classroom doors. To Katrina's exasperation, B. Jones was at the very end of the hall, eight doors down. She passed only one person, a girl exiting the bathroom at a very high velocity. Katrina did not see the potential head-on collision until it was too late. Both girls crashed into each other. The papers went everywhere, but that goes without saying. Katrina was the first to recover. She scrambled after her papers happy to see that all were labeled and could easily be transferred into their proper folders. The other girl on the floor seemed a little more disoriented.

"Oh…ow, jeez that hurt. Oh! Oh, man. I'm so sorry! You alright?" said the other girl in a rush. Katrina nodded, not looking up.

"Yeah, fine. How 'bout yerself?" she was too flustered to care much about how she talked. The stranger did not answer, and instead proceeded to fix the chaos as much as she could. Katrina already had most of it done, though. For the first time, Katrina glanced up to see who had crashed into her. A girl, maybe a year older, with styled black hair and ebony skin. She wore neon clothes and had an assortment of colors in her hair, which complimented the multiple earrings and single nose stud that decorated her face. She had dark skinny jeans, the ankles of which were covered by striped blue socks and original Chuck Taylor's. Katrina was taken aback. The girl held a hand up and waved.

"Hi, I'm Nix." Katrina, not knowing how to respond to the hand gesture, waved back.

"Katrina," she said, stacking her folders up. Nix helped.

"Cool. People call you 'Kat'?" Katrina awkwardly shook her head. That was true. Never in her life had she been given a nickname.

"Well, can I call you 'Kat'?" Nix asked.

"I see no harm in it," Katrina answered quickly. Nix smiled a wide smile and took the folders from Katrina. She held up a hand with rainbow colors on the nails. A sign of "stop", not "hi".

"It's the least I can do, seein' how I crashed into you and all that," Nix said. She hefted the folders silently, and she seemed to have no trouble at all in holding them. Katrina wiped her aching hands on her jeans.

"Where're you headed with all this stuff?" Nix asked. Katrina pointed at B. Jones's door. Nix grimaced.

"Ew, girl. That lady in there is one twisted witch. She needs one of these things, though?" Katrina nodded. Nix handed her the folder that was marked for the teacher.

"You're on your own with that one. I've already served my time with her today." Nix retreated a few steps back, encouraging Katrina on. Katrina knocked on the door. Maybe she would be allowed to handle something on her own since meeting Nix. A short old lady answered. She was red in the face, and fire blazed in her eyes. Katrina tried not to look at any of her students' terrifies faces.

"What!" barked the old lady. Katrina did not respond to her disagreeable method of communication. She instead handed the folder to whom she was assuming to be B. Jones.

"From Mr. Chavers," she said, as sweetly as she could muster. Ms. Jones got a crazy look in her eye. She looked at Katrina up and down. Finally she turned away.

"Well, stand up straighter, you look like a gang banger." She muttered awkwardly. The door was then slammed closed.

"Where was I? Oh, yes! You're all the useless dregs of society…" Katrina scampered from the door as quickly as possible. Nix was laughing, disregarding neighboring classrooms.

"Well," Katrina sniffed, "nasty little witch, ain't she?". Nix nodded, wiping a tear away.

"Oh, Kat, don't say I didn't warn you. God forbid you have to go to Mr. Davis." Katrina glanced at the stack in Nix's arms suspiciously.

"Why?" Nix's lipstick-ed mouth dropped open. She closed it again quickly, regaining her senses. She leaned towards the red-head conspiratorially, holding a hand near her mouth to direct the sound to Katrina's ear.

"He's a pervert," Nix whispered. Katrina backed up, mouth wide open. Nix nodded slowly, seriously. She pulled the younger girl closer for another whisper.

"I dropped his class. He was getting too nosy. Askin' for my cell number, address, whether I needed a ride home, walkin' behind me, pullin' my pants up for me? Not just me. At least thirty other girls. Why kinda freak does that, ya know?" Katrina nodded. She got the creeps from the first few words Nix said. Nix groaned aloud when she saw the name next on the list. Katrina's eyes widened.

"Mr. Davis?" Nix shook her head.

"Mattly," she muttered, perky personality dimming. The two girls began walking out of the hall, heading for ninth grade. Katrina had to ask.

"What's wrong with-"

"Ugh! He's such a snore! God, I can't stand him! He's got this really annoying way of taking, like everything you say doesn't matter, irrelevant. You know what I'm talking about?" Nix asked, stopping at the third door on the right of the ninth grade hallway. Katrina thought briefly of Mandark.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I think I know _exactly_ what you're sayin',". Nix smiled. She raised a bangled hand and knocked on the door. A tall, dull looking man glared down at them. He took a deep breath.

"….Yeessss?..." he sighed. Katrina plucked his papers off the stack and presented them to him. He took his sweet time taking them away. He glanced down at them and inhaled again.

"…..Anything….elssseee?..." he exhaled. Katrina shook her head, accompanied by Nix. The door slowly shut in their faces. The two girls managed to make it out of the hall before they both said something.

"Oh. My. God." They said simultaneously. They laughed, and Katrina's eyes brightened considerably, perfectly matching Nix's neon green stripe in her hair. Nix stared.

"How'd you do that?" she asked, pointing at Katrina's "mood-eyes". Katrina shrugged.

"Born with it, I guess." Nix laughed again.

"You got style, girl. You and me, we're gonna get along." Katrina beamed.

The two girls went about the school, weaving through desks sometimes to reach teachers. Sometimes Katrina would carry the stack and Nix would pass out folders, but Katrina would quickly tire, and Nix would have to hold it again. They took one short break at 3:15. Katrina took this time to ask a question.

"Nix? Why is your name…uh, 'Nix'?" Nix scoffed.

"Better 'n Nathalia," said the dark-skinned girl.

"Your name is Nathalia?"

"Nathalia Groves. Preppy name. Never liked it. I prefer 'Nix'. More punk, scene, emo, whatev, ya know?"

"Yes," Katrina replied, though she didn't know. Nix picked up the final folder.

"I'll take care of this one, Kat. It's on my hall, and you have to go all the way to Freshman Hall, and you'll never get out of there without gettin' trampled if you don't go now."

"Are you sure?" Katrina asked, hating to put responsibility on others. Nix nodded nonchalantly.

"No prob. Go on now. Shoo!" Nix pretended to swat Katrina away. The younger teenager jogged down the hall. Five minutes to go. She picked up the pace as the minutes went by. When the bell rang, she was standing outside of her classroom. She couldn't go in, as she didn't have the proper DNA. But she needed to get her books. So she was forced to wait outside the door, looking like a moron to passersby. When the hall cleared out, a hand roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her in. Mr. Chavers stood, arms crossed, looking every bit the irritated father.

"Miss Silver, I would advise you to be a little more inconspicuous next time, or hasn't Mr. McPherson told you that this is a _secret_ classroom?" Katrina nodded.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry," Katrina said humbly, not making eye contact. What a stupid mistake. Now every idiot that gave her a sideways glance probably saw the door. They would want to know what was behind said door. She had potentially endangered her own class. Mr. Chavers cleared his throat.

"Well, it's quite alright. Well, not alright, but not too bad, either. I doubt anyone was paying attention to the wall and the door that was painted to look like it. But make sure it doesn't happen again." Katrina nodded, thankful she had gotten off without another punishment. Mr. Chavers clapped his hands.

"Good, now. Go get your books, dear, you'll miss your ride." Katrina steadied herself before tipping as she sank to the floor on the raised platform. She dashed to her desk, taking out her single math workbook (all other books having been turned into the Lost and Found after Katrina's name was erased) and purse. She cursed under her breath as she realized she left her purse in the classroom without herself to guard it. She put her pen in her purse, along with _Gone with the Wind_, carefully doing an inventory check. Pen. Book. Notebook. Paper. Sticky notes. IPod. IPod… _Oh, good God Almighty,_ Katrina thought in her mind. Someone had taken her iPod. She immediately suspected Katherine, but without any proof, she could hardly report it. She could only see one option: pretend it didn't happen. With as much casualty as she could gather, Katrina walked away, up, and out, heading for the bus ramp. She would have to find proof, and seeing Katherine fiddling with an iPod she did not have this morning would be all the proof she would need. Katrina spotted her bus in a neat little box created by white lines on either side of it. She boarded, not giving a second glance to Katherine and stepping in what she hoped was a graceful fashion over the other girl's outstretched foot, an attempt to trip Katrina, no doubt. She did not have Katrina's iPod. _Scratch that, she's not waving it around and doing a little dance. She may still have it._ Katrina thought to herself. She sat in seat 16 next to Dexter, ignoring a paper ball as it bounced off of her bun.

"Two points, dude!" yelled an obese boy to a wannabe rapper in parachute pants and sideways cap. Katrina sighed, emotionally exhausted. She needed music. Oh, but she couldn't listen to music, could she? Why, no! She couldn't! She angrily punched the plastic seat covering on the seat in front of her. Dexter looked up, a smirk on his face.

"Bad day?" he asked innocently.

"Not in the mood," Katrina growled, punching the seat again. She turned to the boy next to her.

"Someone stole my music, and I need it to block out this… this…" she was at a loss for words.

"Hell?" Dexter guessed.

"Yes!" cried Katrina.

"Yes, well, I wouldn't call it stealing. Your headphones are still in your purse. I took the liberty of making my own in Free Period. But if you need your music back so badly, here." He produced her iPod out of nowhere. She snatched it.

"You jacked my iPod!" she hissed in disbelief.

"'Borrowed' is what some call it,"

"On what planet? Sugah, you went through my purse!"

"Well , I was determined to listen to some of that music," Katrina's mind went to a completely different track, as teenage girl minds tend to do from time to time.

"Did you like it?"

"I reserve judgment. I only listened to one."

"Which one?"

Oh… hm…" he trailed off. Katrina jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Go on," she said.

"Something 'cowboy', I believe." Katrina rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Dexter, that narrows it down." She looked at her song history. _3:32-Cowboy Casanova._

"'Cowboy Casanova'? Ugh! No wonder you reserve judgment. Admit it. You didn't like the song. You just picked it out 'cause you saw Carrie Underwood." Dexter turned pink.

"That is not true!"

"It is so true. Don't be embarrassed. Boys stronger than you have fallen. You need to listen to Brad Paisley. Or Tim McGraw."

"Charlie Daniels?" Katrina shook her head emphatically.

"Oh, no. I want to do that one on the fiddle. It's so much more, I don't know, _country_, I suppose when it's live. It would make more sense, I guess. Now if you'll excuse me," she said, hooking up her own headphones and turning Rose Falcon up. She was still a little mad that he had given her the cold shoulder after lunch, but maybe she was overreacting. And, she currently did not want to listen, speak of, or see Carrie Underwood.

The bus rumbled on, occasionally stopping to let one or two people off before closing its doors with a loud _hiss_. Katrina waited for her song to end before closing the music window and winding her headphones loosely around the iPod. She watched Mandark get off, then Katherine (only to step into a parked car and drive down the street), and then another boy that looked like he had a biker obsession (piercings, leather, bandana, and spiked choker collars decorated an outfit that was just barely following school dress-code). The school bus had only three people left, including Dexter and Katrina. Miss Silver began to recognize the ugly houses on the right side of the street. She laughed a little when she saw Anita watering bright pink rose buds in a canary yellow sweat suit. The little old woman was definitely off. Or completely and utterly colorblind, or maybe just blind, depending on how long she stared at those colors. The bus stopped suddenly, but Katrina barely moved, and she was proud of herself. She stood up and walked quickly down the aisle, avoiding the only other boy's backpack that hung awkwardly off of the seat. She stepped lightly off of the big yellow monster, glad to be walking away from it, and even more so that she could see her house. But the bus had no dropped her off at her own house.

Instead, she had gotten off in front of the next-door neighbors' house. The mysterious glowing house that seemed to attract lots of attention at 10:00 at night. She turned on her heel and walked immediately to her right, clutching her purse tighter than she should have. No one was waiting at the doorstep. Katrina expected as much. Her aunt and uncle would not be home until five, but one of the daycare employees had been hired to bring Sammy home and watch him until Katrina returned. She glanced behind her. The bus was still there. Did she forget something? No. Someone was getting off. Someone was walking up the driveway to her neighbors' house, opening the door, entering. Someone was not coming back out. Katrina blinked rapidly. She had just realized who lived next door to her family. _And_ who blew something up. _Oh. My. God._ She thought. Thinking it over quickly, it did make sense. Somewhat. Oh, whatever. Katrina pulled a key from her purse and unlocked the front door. She was immediately tackled to the floor by a small, blue, fuzzy bundle.

"Rar!" growled the bundle. Katrina laughed. Sammy's face peeked out from a fold in the fabric.

"Kay-Kay!" Sammy squealed. Katrina sat up and moved Sammy to the side. The toddler stood up and held his hands in front of him, wrists bent.

"Monstah!" he roared hopping up and down. Katrina got to her feet and picked up her baby cousin.

"Really? Protecting the house are we?" Sammy nodded excitedly, the hood from his mother's jacket falling over his eyes. Katrina pulled it up and over his head, attempting to comb his unruly black hair.

"DeeDee!" Katrina called over her shoulder. Another bundle bounded down the stairs, this one made of Aunt Felicia's pink bathrobe. A girl two years older than Katrina peered out from a floppy sun hat with paper horns attached. She had two perfectly blonde pigtails, completely natural, and blue eyes that matched Sammy's own. DeeDee was Sammy's favorite babysitter. She got along so well with him. When Katrina or her guardians were too busy to give Sammy much attention, DeeDee was usually available for a game of pretend. To be honest, DeeDee was the closest thing Katrina had to a best friend. Never having one before, she did not know when one reached the transition from "friend" to "best friend". Katrina looked up at the taller girl.

"He was well-behaved?" she inquired. DeeDee nodded.

"Perfect. He played Monster all afternoon. Of course, we needed costumes," DeeDee indicated her floppy hat. Katrina smiled.

"They're great, DeeDee. It's fine. He took his medicine?" Katrina focused on a more serious topic. Sammy had severe asthma. Just that little tussle in the hall could screw up his lungs. He needed daily treatments and inhalers were positioned at strategic points all over the house. She trusted DeeDee, but she was so paranoid when it came to Sammy. DeeDee smiled.

"Of course. Didn't even fight me this time," Sammy beamed. He twisted his fingers in his hair and wiggled to be let down. Katrina set Sammy on the ground gently and he was off like a rocket. Katrina kept smiling as she went to the rug in the living room and opened up the little compartment underneath. She plucked sixty dollars from the little cubby and presented it to the older girl. DeeDee accepted the money, pulling off her hat. Katrina locked the safe and covered it again, putting both hat and the recently discarded robe in the hall closet. DeeDee straightened her dress.

"Will you need me tomorrow?" She asked, shouldering her purse. Katrina winced.

"Well, yes, I will. I'm going to school now. So really the hours won't differ from today. Why, do you have plans?"

"No, you just took a little longer today. School, huh? Fun stuff?" Katrina snorted.

"Yeah. Had a blast. Can't wait till tomorrow."

"It'll get better. The second day's never as bad as the first," DeeDee reassured her young friend. Katrina half-smiled. What if half your class is less than agreeable and a quarter of the class is a complete mystery? DeeDee left shortly after, and Katrina set out to hunt her cousin. She found him in the hamper, clinging to his old stuffed dog, Dewey. He reached up for her, and she obliged.

"So, how was your day?" Katrina asked, carrying Sammy from the laundry room.

"Monstah!" Sammy replied, bearing what little teeth he had.

"We've established that. Anything else?" Sammy thought for a few seconds. Then he shook his head.

"Nigh," He said, shaking his stuffed toy around. Katrina raised an eyebrow.

"Nigh?"

"Nigh tah,"

"Nigh tah. Nigh-tah. Nighttah. Night?" Katrina guessed. Sammy nodded, pleased his message had gotten through.

"_BOOM!_" he exclaimed, arms making a wide circle around him. Katrina got it then.

"Oh, last night's little explosion. Yes, well, it's no longer a mystery as to who lives there, just what he's doing." Sammy put his thumb in his mouth.

"_BOOM!_" he repeated around his finger. Katrina nodded.

"Yes, Sammy. Big boom. We'll have to see if there will be any more tonight. I certainly hope not." Sammy nodded. Small children are not particularly fond of explosions and bright flashes of light in the dark quiet of night. Sammy had almost been asleep when the episode occurred. He hoped Kay-Kay would do something about it. The pair made their way to the kitchen, and Katrina started to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Sammy. She set the plate down in front of him and watched him eat. He was wheezing a little. Katrina got up and moved to the medicine cabinet, taking two plastic vials filled with a clear liquid. Sammy's medicine. She put the liquid into a container attached to an asthma machine, prepping it for her cousin. Sammy pushed the remains of his sandwich and reached for his mask. Katrina fixed the mask to his face, using the attached rubber band to hold it to his head. She flicked the machine on, and while it hummed, she shuffled through her songs. She was becoming more and more attached to it lately. She unplugged her headphones so Sammy could listen too. What was a happy song Sammy would enjoy? "Hillbilly Bone"by Blake Shelton. Sammy at least knew a few words. She turned the volume up as loud as she could, in order for the music to be heard over Sammy's machine. She pressed "play". A techno-sounding guitar came on, and Sammy wiggled excitedly, happy to have some entertainment. Katrina left her iPod on the counter, singing quietly as she went.

_Well, I got a friend in New York City_

_He's never heard of Kanwe Twitty_

_Don't know nothin' 'bout grits and greens._

_Never been south o' Queens_

_But he flew down here on a business trip._

_I took him 'honky-tonkin'' and that was it._

_He took to it like a pig to mud, like a cow to cud._

_We all got a Hillbilly bone down deep inside_

_No matter where you're from, you just can't hide it_

_When the band starts playin' and the fiddle saws_

_You can't help but holler "Yee-haw!"_

_When you see them perty lil' country queens_

_Man you got to admit that it's in them genes_

_Ain't nothin' wrong_

_Just getting' known_

_Your Hillbilly bone, ba-bone, ba-bone, bone. _

She left Sammy in the kitchen, randomly blurting "hillbilly" or "bone" as loud as he could through his mask.

"Breathe deeply," Katrina called to him. It was important he take his medicine, every last drop. She went upstairs, opening her door. She dropped her single school book on a nearby side-table and flicked on her light. She kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the floor, staring out of her window. She was barely aware of how long she sat there until Sammy's machine switched off and the house became silent, save the sounds of Katrina's music. Sammy dashed up the stairs, opening his cousin's door.

"Momma! Daddy!" he cried, disappearing again. Katrina got up, pulling her shirt down. She went downstairs after Sammy, who was flitting between his mother and father. Aunt Felicia did not look at her son for more than three seconds before turning her attention to her niece.

"Well?" she asked, hands clasped together. Katrina sighed.

"I survived. It sucked on ice, but I'll live," Aunt Felicia jumped for joy. Just once.

"That's great! Meet any new people?" Katrina shook her head.

"There are only three other people in my class," she told her aunt. Felicia seemed genuinely confused.

"I saw Mrs. Owens's class. There were at least twenty students in the homeroom." Katrina swallowed.

"Oh, well I'm not in Mrs. Owens's class. I'm in the…uh…" Aunt Felicia glared at Katrina, suddenly very suspicious.

"'Uh'? You never say 'uh'," the older woman crossed her arms.

"Gifted Classes!" Katrina blurted out, closing her mouth tightly after.

"What?"

"Just for homeroom, really. New kids. There were only three others," Katrina lied.

"Then why are they called the Gifted Classes?" Aunt Felicia pressed.

"Well, you see, since we're new, we have to take our AP tests. That's why it's called the Gifted Classes. Just a term." She lied again. She did not want to spill the beans about a class that was not supposed to exist. Aunt Felicia stared a little longer, as though she could read Katrina's mind.

"Well, that's good." Aunt Felicia said eventually, "Did you see anyone you know?" she asked casually, inspecting a fingernail. Katrina rolled her eyes, smiling.

"Oh, yes. Very clever, Aunt Felicia. The school day was a bit more bearable. Though keeping me in suspense was hardly necessary." Felicia shrugged. Just then, Jeremy Silver walked in, sporting his deputy's uniform. He would need to leave again in an hour, and so did not bother to even take off his tie.

"Well, I'm glad to see you had a girl to talk to, honey," he said, hugging his wife and smiling down at Katrina. Katrina frowned a little, turning a shade of pink.

"_He's_ a boy, Uncle Jeremy," she stated calmly. Uncle Jeremy's face became unreadable. He recovered eventually.

"Huh," he grunted, looking off to the side, out the front door, as though he expected an army of hormone-crazed teenage boys to come flooding through the front door. Aunt Felicia patted her husband on the shoulder comfortingly.

"It's alright, Jerry. Katrina knows what she's doing. There was no one else to talk to today. She'll make more friends soon, don't worry. And they'll be girls, right Katrina?" Felicia raised her eyebrows pointedly at Katrina.

"Well, I did meet a girl today. She seemed very nice." Uncle Jeremy visibly relaxed. His niece would not be dependent on one person, and that was a relief, especially seeing as the on person was a boy.

"Really? Who, sweetie? You said you didn't meet anyone," Aunt Felicia threw Katrina's story back at her.

"I didn't meet anyone new in my grade, Aunt Felicia. Nix is in the tenth grade," Katrina explained, thinking of her brightly-colored friend.

"Nix?" her guardians said at the same time. Katrina nodded and shrugged.

"Nathalia Groves. She likes to be called 'Nix'." Her aunt and uncle both "oh-ed" at the same time.

"Nathalia, Elaine's daughter," Felicia said, turning to her husband. Jeremy nodded.

"Sweet girl, odd taste in fashion." Sammy flew in just then, and life resumed. Aunt Felicia started baking a chicken that she bought on her way home as Katrina fixed mashed potatoes and a large salad. Nothing like a home-cooked meal after an exhausting day.

Uncle Jeremy left just after dinner had been eaten, and Aunt Felicia began to settle Sammy down, getting him into his baby bath in the lower bathroom while Katrina took a shower in her own bathroom. She removed the remains of her makeup while she held her hair in a towel. Dressed in light orange cotton pajamas, Katrina went to her room and sat on the bed, staring out the window again.

"Interesting day," she whispered to herself. It would all go down again tomorrow. She sighed. Part of her was dreading a repeat of today. Yet somewhere, deep down, she felt a sense of expectation. She almost couldn't wait to go back to her classroom, if one could call it that. But she grimaced when she remembered how close she had come to spilling the secret. Twice in one day, and both times were without thinking; she would have to be more careful. Aunt Felicia came upstairs, not to give her a speech, or to tell Katrina that she did not believe her lie, but to tell her "lights out". Katrina brushed her teeth and pulled her hair down, flinging the hair tie across the room. She didn't retrieve it, tired as she was. She put on earplug in, lying on the side without one of the little speakers. Her mind flickered, and she only caught bits of "Tell Me Something I Don't Know" before she fell asleep.

_Everybody tells me that it's so hard to make it_

_It's so hard to break in_

_There's no way to fake it_

_Everybody tells me that it's wrong what I'm feelin'_

_I shouldn't believe in_

_The dreams that I'm dreamin'_

_I hear it everyday_

_I hear it all the time_

_I'm never gonna 'mount to much_

_But they're never gonna change my mind_

_No._

There were no explosions that night.


	6. Chapter 6: The Beginning

**So I realize how long I'm dragging out the romance thing. I'm sorry! This chapter may speed up the process!**

Four hours previously, right after she was paid, DeeDee had walked home, congratulating herself on a fun day job-well-done. Sammy was just too cute! He hardly argued, and was rarely sticky or smelly, and he liked to play games she liked to play, and always asked politely when he wanted to play something more to his taste. It was a good job, not a career choice, but a good job that she was happy with. DeeDee was saving up for college, wanting to be an actress. That's why "pretend" was such a good game; it was practice. The Silvers paid very well, for a two-hour baby-sitting job; about ten dollars an hour. Juggling her last year of high school with volunteer work, it was a pretty sweet deal.

DeeDee walked up her own steps and let herself in with the key. Her brother was nowhere to be found. DeeDee rolled her eyes. Not surprising. She had kept her brother's lab a secret ever since they were kids. Sure, she bugged him about it, but she would never rat on him. He liked to disappear in there for hours from the time he got home until it was dinner, and then back down until it was time for bed. DeeDee didn't go "down there" as often as she once did. It was interesting and exciting, but she had decided sometime in the seventh grade to give Dexter a bit more space. God knows he had yelled at her often enough just for being down there. She dropped her little pink purse on the kitchen counter, grabbing a cookie out of the jar next to the coffeepot. She wandered upstairs, turning right, not left (towards her own room). She didn't knock on Dexter's door. She never did unless she was told to, or had a sisterly feeling. Dexter's room had hardly changed over the years. A few posters, the same shelves, the same lamp. A new desk was situated in a corner, and random sheets of music and open books lay all over the top. DeeDee gazed around the room a little longer before standing in the center of the rug in front of his bed. One. Two. Three.

DeeDee felt as though she had fallen through the floor, though she knew she was just in a transport tube. She knew it had been awhile since she had come down here, because the turns in the tube seemed a little sharper. It was a short ride, and she soon felt her feet hit the ground. She looked around, still impressed with the things _her_ little brother could do. An indoor greenhouse stretched the length of one wall, and next to that, a maze of shelves lined with chemicals and containers. The whole place hummed with all the technology in the laboratory. DeeDee was taken aback by how much everything had been swapped around. She was no longer so confident she knew where she was going. She took a few tentative steps forward, and then turned immediately to the left, power-walking down an aisle between two ceiling-high shelves. At every turn, she glanced left and right, hoping her gut would lead her to her brother. Old habits die hard, and DeeDee barely resisted the urge to press all of the colorful buttons in sight. When she was sure she had walked past the same magnetic crane twice, she saw her brother disappear behind a corner.

She ran to catch up with him. He stopped suddenly, causing DeeDee to crash into him. She jumped back as Dexter wheeled, pushing his glasses up.

"DeeDee!" he shouted. DeeDee held up a hand. She had no time for Dexter's temper.

"Did you meet the neighbors?" she asked. Every year, DeeDee made a New Year's resolution. Recently, they had all become the same thing: Get Dexter to be more sociable. He would hate it, but he would also have to get over it. DeeDee wasn't giving up this year. Their new neighbors brought a new opportunity. Dexter continued glaring. DeeDee jerked a thumb behind her.

"You know. Next door? New neighbors? The reason that house doesn't have a "for sale" sign in the front yard anymore?" Dexter remained motionless. DeeDee sighed.

"Come on, Dexter. This is the first time I've been down here in, like, a year. You could at least work with me on this." Dexter crossed his arms.

"Fine. Yes, I've met the family. And?" Dexter asked. DeeDee crossed her arms too.

"Know their names?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

You said you met them! When I meet people, I find out their names." When her brother once again lapsed into silence, DeeDee decided to help him out.

"The Silvers. Nice Family. Mr. and Mrs. Silver, Jeremy and Felicia, and they've got an adorable little boy named Sammy. And their daughter, her name's-"

"I know her name!" Dexter snapped. DeeDee blinked, "She's their niece, not their daughter." He said in a softer tone. Katrina looked upwards.

"Ooohhh, that's why she doesn't look like them. How do you know?" Before the words were fully out of her mouth, DeeDee knew why, "Oh, you _talked_ to her? For real?" Dexter shrugged, trying to look indifferent. DeeDee smirked.

"Talk to her all day?" she asked. Dexter glared.

"We sat next to each other on the bus. We have the same teacher. I didn't really have much choice." DeeDee cocked her head to the side.

"What? She's not a good conversationalist or something?" Dexter shook his head.

"It's not that,"

"Is she boring?"

"No!" Dexter replied a bit too quickly. He quickly recovered, "Is that the only reason you came down here?" he asked of his older sister. DeeDee shrugged. Dexter shoved his sister towards the exit.

"Then goodbye." He said. DeeDee decided to play the trick up her sleeve. She dashed out and up, making for the kitchen, and grabbed her purse off of the counter. Opening the tiny clasp, she pulled out one of Sammy's favorite toys, a fuzzy stuffed duck he called Terry. She ran back upstairs, discovering her original way into Dexter's lab to be locked. She strode to the bookshelf, pushing it aside and entering the set of double sliding doors. Another way in that had not changed. She found her brother studying something on a giant screen. When she approached, he closed out of the window, turning to face her.

"What is it now, DeeDee?" he asked, irritated. DeeDee held out Terry. Dexter glanced at the stuffed animal.  
"What is that, and why is it here?"

"It's a stuffed animal, and it's Sammy's. I accidentally brought it over." Dexter turned around.

No," he said. DeeDee stomped her foot.

"I didn't even ask anything!" Dexter shook his head.

"You were going to. The answer is 'no', DeeDee. _You _will take the toy over to the Silvers, or Sammy will unfortunately be forced to wait until tomorrow." DeeDee marched up to her brother. She shoved the duck into his hands with a soft_ squeak._

"I'm. Busy." She growled, "And this is Sammy's favorite toy. Whatever you're doing, it can wait until tomorrow. You're not so cold you would keep a kid's toy, would you?" she challenged. Dexter glared at the soft yellow toy. The silence hung for a few seconds. Then he marched past her, towards the exit. DeeDee smirked. She followed him up to the main house, through the hallway, and watched as he stomped next door. She closed it silently. With any luck, her plan would work without a hitch.

What DeeDee didn't know was that Dexter heard her close the door. When she did, his pace slowed considerably. He clutched the child's toy, suddenly very nervous for some reason. The house next door loomed in the distance. At least he knew who lived there. But that didn't help the thumping in his chest. Pushing the confusion away in a dark corner of his mind, Dexter walked onto the Silvers' front porch. Katrina's front porch. Dexter shook his head. _You are merely here to return a toy to a toddler. Nothing more,_ he thought to himself. He hesitated above the doorbell, before pressing the little button. A buzz went off in the house. After a few seconds, a _very _large man answered the door. He had mud-brown hair, and was wearing a police uniform. His expression was unreadable as Dexter shrank from his stone-cold gaze. The boy stood as tall as he could, which didn't seem like much compared to this veritable giant. He presented the squeaking toy to the large man.

"My sister, DeeDee, accidentally took this when she left after caring for, er, Sammy." Dexter ground his teeth when he said "er". It wasn't even a word! The police officer, who Dexter correctly assumed was Mr. Silver, growled a thank you and snatched the duck. A little boy raced around the corner, whooping and hollering. He danced around the large man, barely coming up to his knee, begging for "Terry duck, Terry duck". Mr. Silver smiled and gave the child the toy. He looked back up at Dexter, apparently remembering that he was even there.

"Is that all?" he said, voice almost too deep to believe. Dexter nodded. The door was shut in his face. He swallowed before backing off of the porch. There, he had done his duty. He had returned the toy. DeeDee would have no reason to bother him. He stepped into his house to find DeeDee watching TV on the couch. Dexter stepped in front of the screen.

"I thought you were busy," he said. DeeDee seemed to remember her lie just then.

Oh! Well… hm... I lied." Dexter rolled his eyes.

"Obviously." He marched past his sister.

"Hey! Did you see Katrina?" she called after him. There was a pause.

"No," came the eventual answer. DeeDee frowned. Darn, it hadn't worked. And it seemed it really would have. Her brother seemed very busted up about it. She switched off the TV and walked upstairs. Lights out for her. She had to wake up at five the next morning to volunteer at the animal shelter.

When Dexter was back in his laboratory, he settled into a peaceful rhythm. Well, more boring than peaceful. He was driven to do an inventory check just to have something to do. Then he remembered the window he had opened on his computer. He strode to the keyboard, clicking a few keys. The website he had been browsing popped back up. Normally, if Dexter ever stopped whatever work he was doing to listen to music, it would be things he wrote. However, the music he was currently looking at was not for entertainment. Rather, he was studying it. This music, he didn't understand it. It ranged from depressing to angry to happy. Death, life after death, suicides, divorce, break-ups, unemployment. Then, the songs about things he could never personally relate to. What did one do at a bonfire? Was fishing or hunting really so important? It confused him, which hardly ever happened, and yet at the same time, it interested him. To some extent, Dexter could understand why Katrina was so taken with the guitars and "fiddles", harmonicas, and voices. But the lyrics! Why write a song as depressing as "Whiskey Lullaby"? Katrina said it was her favorite song. That somewhat disturbed him. He looked up various singers, including Charlie Daniels. He stayed away from "The Devil Went Down to Georgia". Katrina had hellfire in her eyes when she said he couldn't listen to it yet.

He was not entirely sure why he was bothering with country music. It had certainly never interested him before. It wasn't wholly fascinating now, but he felt Katrina would feel more at ease when she had someone to talk to about something she could relate to. Besides, it was one thing that Katherine would never understand. Those two things drove him to research anything and everything that Katrina would find interesting. He was careful to avoid anything that put the South in a bad light. Katrina's pride could be bruised, and so could Dexter. He smiled a little smile that was barely there unless you were looking for it. Then it was gone. After awhile, so was he, back upstairs, ready for the next day.


	7. Chapter 7: That's His Girl

**Alright, we got an idea of what Dexter's going through, time to focus on Katrina. Her emotionally confused chapter! Ooh, ur gonna luv! I hope...**

Katrina reluctantly rolled out of bed, popping her neck and silencing her alarm clock. She opened one closet door, looking for an outfit. She decided on a little down-home comfort. A pair of blue jeans with a white blouse that tied in the back, and a pair of sneakers. She felt a little better with the jeans and sneakers. She brushed her hair, pulling it into a bun, and nearly died while walking downstairs. She tripped on Terry, Sammy's favorite duck. Well, Sammy's _only_ duck. The little lump of fluff slipped off of the stair when her foot landed on it, and as such, her foot went with it. She managed to hug the wall to slow her fall, and clung to the railing as she flew over the last step. Checking her hair in the hall mirror, she decided that she was lucky, and that everything was in order. She walked into the kitchen, welcoming the smell of warm syrup and a pile of pancakes on the table. Sammy had gotten up early, and was covered in the sticky stuff. Aunt Felicia was trying to clean him up and flip the remaining pancakes at the same time. Without a word, Katrina took over the cooking.

She cast a glance over her shoulder. Confident her aunt was preoccupied, she touched the tip of her finger to the mixing bowl and tasted the batter. Not bad, but it could be improved. She turned the spice rack to her left, selecting cinnamon, and shook the plastic bottle twice into the bowl, mixing it thoroughly. She tasted it again. Perfect. She poured more batter onto the skillet and flipped them when need be, occasionally taking bites off of a plate her aunt had prepared before she arrived downstairs.

"Oh, Sammy, honestly. How a lil' thing like you could get covered in so much syrup, I'll never know," Aunt Felicia mumbled, still scrubbing her son with a wet washcloth. She turned to Katrina.

"Thanks for the help, Katrina. Did you manage to eat anything?" Felicia asked, taking Katrina's spatula.

"Yes'm. I ate two, which is plenty this early in the morning." Katrina said, taking Sammy's plastic plate and dumping it into the sink. Aunt Felicia's phone rang just then, and Katrina reached to answer it. Felicia swatted her hand.

"I've got it, sweetheart," Aunt Felicia said quickly. Katrina squinted at her suspiciously. Felicia picked up the phone, turning the skillet off. She held a hand over the mouthpiece.

"Don't be late," she whispered to her niece. Katrina took the hint. She clutched her math book and purse, walking out of the house. Another day, another bus ride. She audibly groaned. She was not looking forward to a repeat of yesterday. She didn't think she could take another insult from that little snot Katherine. Katrina wondered how much trouble she would get in if she slapped the nasty out of little Miss Lane. Too much, not enough reason for her to throw away her permanent record. She sighed, opening up her purse and pulling out the same little entertaining device she had not let out of her sight for three days. Well, except for yesterday. Checking the letters on the headphones (because it would bother her if the headphones did not match the ear they were assigned to), she pressed "shuffle" on the little menu on her iPod. Even though she said "shuffle", as though she didn't care was song was playing, she skipped three songs before settling on "Miracle" by Cascada. The beat of the song instantly snagged her, making her sing; quietly at first, then just loud enough for someone to hear if they walked right beside her.

_Boy. Meets girl. You were my dream, my world._

_But I. Was blind. _

_You cheated on me from behind_

_So on. My own._

_I feel so all alone_

_Though I know_

_It's true_

_I'm still in love with you_

_I need a miracle_

_I wanna be your girl_

_Gimmee a chance to see that you were made for me_

_I need a miracle_

_Please let me be your girl_

_One day you'll see_

_It can happen to me_

_It can happen to me_

_Day. And night._

_I'm always by your side_

'_Cause I know_

_For sure_

_My love is real, my feelings pure_

_So take a try_

_No need to ask me why _

'_Cause I know, it's true_

_I'm still in love with you_

_I need a miracle_

_I wanna be your girl_

_Gimmee a chance to see that you were made for me_

_I need a miracle _

_Please let me be your girl_

_One day you'll see_

_It can happen to me_

_It can happen to me._

Katrina noticed from the first time she ever listened to Cascada that the artist liked to pause mid-song for a music solo, completely without singing, in just about all of her songs. It was dancing music, very electronic. The song managed to distract her long enough so that it took her few seconds to notice someone walking beside her.

"Jeezus Christ!" she yelped, jumping back. Needless to say, she was surprised. Again. Katrina Silver did not like surprises. Dexter, who was of course the one walking beside her, took a step away.

"What? What happened?" he asked, looking around as though there might be a snake or murderer in the bushes. Katrina swallowed, hand on her collarbone. She shook her head.

"God, you're like a friggin' ninja." She punched him lightly on the arm, "Don't do that! I just about had a stroke!" Dexter raised an eyebrow.

"You are the one with headphones," he pointed out. Katrina yanked the tiny speakers out, stuffing them into her purse.

"Shut up. I was bored. Besides, my song was over by the time you walked up," she said. He _must_ have snuck up on her. She didn't hear him coming, and Cascada had stopped playing, and the next song had not started. Dexter pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose.

"_Actually_, I heard the entire thing," Katrina stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"You did not," she whispered. Dexter turned back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, but I did." Katrina mentally kicked herself. _Stupid! Normal people don't sing on the sidewalk! Now God and everybody beneath Him have heard you!_ She walked to stand just a little behind him.

"Don't you _dare_ tell anyone," she hissed, "I already told you, I was bored. I sing when I'm bored!" Dexter paused on the concrete.

"Katrina," he said. Katrina continued as though she didn't ear.

"Certainly this isn't the most embarrassing thing I could have done, but still! I'm trying to keep a low profile, and becoming little Miss Randomly-breaks-out-in-song doesn't really appeal to me!" She was nearly shouting now, though it was unwise when the bus stop was in view. Dexter held up his hands, a motion to pause. She didn't. She kept ranting about how she didn't mean to, don't tell, etcetera. Dexter sighed. He crossed his arms.

"_Katrina!_" he yelled. Some of the other students looked their way. Katrina stopped. Dexter pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Honestly, do you think I would tell someone? What purpose would that serve?" he asked. Katrina thought about it.

"None, unless you did it just to be hateful," Dexter frowned.

"Have I given you the impression that I'm 'hateful'?" Katrina shook her head. "What? No! It's just, I don't know, I don't want people to know that I _sing_ on top of everything else," The two began walking again.

"If you are concerned it was an affront to my ears, don't be," Dexter said, not looking at her. Katrina blushed, only slightly.

"Thanks." She said, staring straight ahead. Katherine was already there. She glared at the two before flicking her hideous curls over her shoulder. Katrina snorted.

"Hateful lil' heifer," she growled. Dexter chuckled. Katrina smiled at him, blush coming back.

"Oh, I'm _so _glad I amuse you," she said. The bus roared into view, and the other children jostled for a spot in line. When it came her turn, Katrina stepped onto the bus. She was immediately bombarded with the various obnoxious noises that she suspected were customary on the average school bus. But, there were new sounds. From the back of the bus. Two wolf-whistles. A skinny boy in a baggy shirt stood up, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"What's up, Cowgirl!" he shouted. His buddy cheered him on. Katrina was in shock. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her brain on track. The hooligan's friend, a boy built like a brick house, stood up beside his friend.

"Take it off! I've got five bucks!" This earned several hearty cat-calls and cheers from a few other boys. Katrina opened her mouth to say something. She was roughly pushed aside, however. As she leaned on a seat, she turned her head to see who had shoved her. It was Dexter. She watched him march straight up to the larger boy, grab his shirt, and yank him down to his height. The bus went completely silent, save the old man driving the even older bus. He was not paying the slightest bit of attention.

"Apologize to her." Dexter growled. Katrina was startled slightly at the sound of so much animosity. The bigger boy grinned.

"Whatcha gonna do, Dexdork?" he guffawed. Dexter calmly reached into the pocket of his lab coat. Katrina saw what appeared to be a very small, very dangerous-looking handgun. He wouldn't. Would he? Dexter glanced at the weapon.

"Prototype," he said. His words reverberated around the bus, "That means 'never been tested', by the way. Tell me, what does this look like?" he asked, indicating the weapon in his hand. The boy-gorilla looked at it. His eyebrows furrowed, as though he couldn't quite process what was happening.

"Uh… a… gun, or something?" he said, still not noticing Dexter's tone of voice. Dexter nodded slowly.

"Yes, this is a 'gun or something'. But as I said, it's never been tested. It is _supposed_ to emit a large electrical charge. A two nanosecond burst could fry an elephant." He pointed the gun at the other boy, "Would you like to test it out for me?" he asked. The beast of a teenager went cross-eyed, staring down the barrel of the gun.

"Would this hurt? It would hurt, right?" he asked, voice decidedly shaky. His smaller friend backed off as far as the small seat would allow him.

"D-dude. Just a-apologize, m-man." He said, fear evident in every word. The other boy nodded emphatically.

"S-sorry man. It was just a stupid mistake," he stuttered. Dexter pushed the gun closer.

"One you'll not make again?" he asked, sounding simply curious and not furious. The very large target bobbed his head up and down so fast, he might have caused brain damage. Dexter released his shirt, fixing the gun on the other boy, keeping it hidden behind him so that the other students couldn't really see what was happening.

"You too," he commanded. The skinny boy shook in what could be considered a nod.

"Ne-never ag-gain." He then locked his lips and threw away an invisible key. Dexter nodded, pocketing his weapon. The bus driver seemed to come back to reality.

"Hey! You two! You're supposed to be seated while the bus is in motion!" Katrina sat down in the first empty seat she could. Dexter sat beside her. She turned to him, crouched low.

"What the hell?" she hissed, "You almost shot someone!" Dexter shrugged. Katrina shook her head.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Dexter flicked his eyes toward her.

"You heard them," Katrina nodded slowly.

"I did. But I could have handled it!" Dexter smirked.

"Not like I did. They were extremely lucky that they did not say anything else." Katrina shook her head again, biting her lip to keep herself from smiling.

"Sugar, you're insane." She became aware of her cheeks burning. More blushing? What was _wrong_ with her today? How long had she been like this? She was not able to stop the next words from escaping her lips.

"I like insanity," she said. She instantly turned away. Had she not turned around, she would have seen Dexter look up at her with a surprised expression. Surprised, confused, yet strangely smiling slightly. He got his face under control, becoming indifferent once again. She did not see it, but one person did. No one important to this story, but a person nonetheless. You see, dear reader, this is how rumors start. A chivalrous boy saves a damsel in distress, and they both end up whispering conspiratorially, blushing, and smiling. It only takes one person to notice the events taking place, and then all Hell breaks loose. Already, there was talk in the school. Talk of the Southern Belle. Talk of "stay away", and "watch what you say around him". Talk of Dexter's girl.


	8. Chapter 8: Family Emergency

**Compared to everything else, the last chapter was fairly short, right? Now taking suggestions for songs to use! I need title, artist, lyrics, etc. I've got quite a line-up, but just in case the songs aren't to everyne's taste, I'll add some of my faithful readers fave songs just because ILY. Thank u all my subscribers and for the reviews get! ILY!**

No one said a word for the remainder of the bus ride. Though there was plenty of texting going on. However, the two subjects that everyone was talking about were completely oblivious. Everyone knew Katrina Silver now, if they didn't know her before. She was the little Southern girl with the tragic past. And, thanks to that little display that Dexter had given everyone, the small part of the student body on the bus, and whoever that part was texting, knew he had somehow become a bad-ass in highschool. Of course, no one knew _what_ he had done to make two of the biggest bullies in school cower in their seat, but the point was that _he_ had done _something_.

Meanwhile, Karina was trying not to giggle at every little thing Dexter said. It wasn't that it was humorous, in fact she wasn't quite sure why she was laughing at all. His voice and her laugh were the only things that could be heard on the bus. Well, that and the sound of dozens of thumbs typing as fast as humanly possible. Dexter was telling Katrina about certain songs he had found on the internet, asking her if she knew them, and why country music was just so depressing.

"Hey! Not _all _of it's depressing! In answer to your question, country music brings sense of realism to the music world. People lose their jobs in the real world. People get divorced in the real world. People commit suicide, and have parties that get out of hand, and get arrested." Katrina explained why dogs were so important, what bonfires were (they are parties centered around a large fire, not just a big pile of burning wood) and why _everyone_ in the South had a hat of one form or another. When Katrina decided to pull out her iPod and listen to some music while Dexter read, the talking graadually picked back up. They were not talking about the two redheads anymore, and had instead moved on to a much larger topic. In one month, the Freshman End-of-the-Year Dance would take place. Not quite the prom, or junior prom, just... a dance. A band formed by students at the school, called Lead Poisoning, would play. even though the band was made up by tenth graders, the group agreed to do it, on the promise that someone would be filmimg the entire performance so that the video could be uploaded onto Youtube. It was Nix's band, Nix being very talented in most instruments. As the conversation traveled away from the band and more onto who was going with who, the bus again lapsed into texting, no one wanting to mention one obvious couple. Though, the actual 'couple' seemed unaware that they were even a 'couple'.

When the big yellow bus finally sputtered to a stop, no one moved. The entire bus was silent, Katrina sat up a little straighter, looking up over the top of her seat, much like a meerkat. She shot back down almost immediately.

"They're starin' at us!" she whispered to Dexter. He glanced around, then nodded in confirmation. He stood up, and walked calmly off of the bus. He waited at the bottom of the stairs. When he was off, everyone else turned around to stare at Katrina. Staring straight ahead, she stood up as well. There was a large amount of rustling as everyone turned in their seats to watch her. She hopped off of the last step, walking immediately into the school. Both she and Dexter rushed to their classroom, and waited for Mr. Chavers. Instead, Katherine came charging around the corner. She stomped up to Katrina and shoved her back. Hard.

"You almost got him hurt! What kind of idiot are you? Can't you do anything right?" Katherine pushed Katrina again. When Katrina leaned forward to push Katherine back, Dexter stepped between them. He turned to Katherine.

"I am perfectly capable of handling myself, and it is _not_ Katrina's fault. I would suggest you refrain from shouting, seeing as we are in front of the classroom," he said. Katherine tried to get around him, looking ready to strangle Katrina. Truth be told, Katrina wished Dexter was not standing between them. Then, she was thankful, because Mr. Chavers appeared out of nowhere. He held Katherine back by her arm, a surprised expression on his face.

"Katherine! Miss Lane! What has gotten into you?" he whisper-shouted. Katherine turned to him, pointing at Katrina.

"No! Not again! It's not my fault, Mr. Chavers! It's her! Her, her, her!" she shouted, jumping up and down at each "her". Mr. Chavers let his students into the classroom, sending Katherine to the back of the room in the greenhouse. He followed her back there, and appeared to be talking to her, attempting to calm her down. Katrina wheeled on Dexter.

"Why did you stop me? I could have smacked the rungs off of her DNA by now!" she hissed. Dexter frowned.

"_And_ you would have been punished. Again. I'd rather not let that happen," Katrina sniffed. She looked around the huge room.

"Where's Mandark?" she asked.

"Who cares?" Dexter growled. Katrina shrugged, "I don't know. There are so few people in here, it's hard _not_ to notice when someone is missing," She explained. The sound of the platform moving drew Katrina's eyes upward. She snorted.

"Well, speak o' the Devil," she sighed. Mandark would be joining them for class after all. Dexter scoffed and sat down at his desk. Katrina sat beside him.

"Don't let him bug ya, sugah," Katrina whispered.

"Much like you don't let Katherine bother you?" Dexter shot back. Katrina frowned.

"That's different,"

"It is not. The simplest way I can put this: Mandark is my Katherine," Katrina balked. She put a hand on Dexter's arm.

"Oh wow. No wonder. I guess there's one for every person," Katrina said sympathetically. She noticed her hand, and drew it away quickly. She cleared her throat.

"So, how much trouble do you think Katherine will be in?" Katrina asked, picking up her composition book.

"I 've never seen Mr. Chavers so upset. It's impossible to tell." Dexter replied. Katrina nodded, stealing a glance behind her. Katherine was _still _being chewed out. Katrina turned her attention to her book. Okay, focus. Math. She picked up her pencil, but not two seconds later did she hear someone clear their throat. Mr. Chavers.

"Yessir?" Katrina asked her desktop. Would she be punished after all? Mr. Chavers handed her a small black flip phone.

"A call for you," he said before walking away. Katrina held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, uncertain. Who calls someone at school on the teacher's phone? A concerned parent. Katrina gritted her teeth. What could her aunt or uncle possibly want?

"KayKay!" Sammy shrieked into the other end. Katrina nearly dropped the phone. Dexter looked up at the sound of the toddler's voice crackling loudly over the small speaker.

"Sammy? How did you call me? Where's Momma, Sammy?" Katrina spoke with her voice lowered. Her cousin didn't answer immediately.

"Sammy?" Katrina asked, nervousness straining her voice.

"Is everything alright?" Dexter asked. Katrina held a hand up for quiet.

"Halp, KayKay! Momma sick! Momma sleeping!" Katrina gripped the phone tighter.

"Sammy, where are you?" she demanded, not trying to keep her voice quiet.

"Home. With Terry duck. Momma on da couch. Momma... Momma on da couch. Sleeping! Shhh!" Katrina stood up, speed-walking up to Mr. Chaver's desk.

"Mr. Chavers!" she exclaimed, planting the phone on the desk, pressing the speaker button. Sammy's scared little voice came on.

"Halp, KayKay! Momma not wakey-up! Wakey-up, Momma!" Mr. Chavers gave Katrina a startled look. Then Sammy went quiet. Or, almost quiet. There was a slight wheezing over the phone. Sammy was going into an asthma attack. Aunt Felicia was somehow incapacitated. Her uncle was at work, and she was at school. Katrina was gone the insant Sammy started coughing. She shot to the platform, wringing her hands as it slowly rose, then out the door she went.

"Miss Silver!" Mr. Chaver's voice fell on deaf ears. She would run home. It wasn't quite so far, really. Katrina dropped her books in the hall, sprinting out the school's front doors. Down the road, take a left, then a right, halfway around a circle, then another left. If she kept a steady pace, she could expect to be home in five minutes. Without even pausing, she ran. She ran as far and as fast as she could, until her lungs burned like ice and her breathing hurt. Even then, she didn't stop. She tripped on her front porch, scraping her knees and elbows. She didn't even comprehend the fact that she was sprawled on the pavement. She just stood up, seeing it as another challenge keeping her from her cousin. She cursed like a sailor when the house key didn't work the first time. When she let herself in, she scanned the hallway, the living room, the kitchen.

"Sammy! Aunt Felicia!" she called, running through the house. She found her aunt on the couch, completely unconcious. She called 911 while she walked away from the couch, still looking for Sammy.

"Yes, I need an ambulance to 227 Pine Circle, Northwood. Immediately, my aunt is unconcious. No! She's not _drunk_!" Katrina shouted into the tiny speaker. She found Sammy at the bottom of the steps, slumped over, breathing shallowly. Katrina dashed to the nearest side-table, pulling out a rescue inhaler. She held it to her cousin's mouth, pressing the button. Sammy responded, breathing in as much as he could. Katrina only gave him two shots of the inhaler. Any more could make him sick. She prepped Sammy's asthma machine, strapping it to his face with one hand and turning it on with the other. When Sammy's wheezing had all but disappeared, his breathing had returned to normal, and he was no longer coughing, Katrina moved on to Aunt Felicia. She checked her Aunt's vitals.

"Good. Still alive, then," Katrina grumbled sarcastically. She lightly slapped her aunt's cheek, "It's almost like you're asleep. What's wrong with you?" Katrina whispered.

"Is she allergic to anything?" came a voice beside her. Katrina barely noticed.

"Yes... uh... uh..." she snapped her fiongers impatiently, "Cinnamon! She's allergic to cinnamon! And I... Jeezus Christ, I put cinnamon in the pancakes this morning!" Katrina slapped herself on the forehead.

Do you have a-"

"Ballpoint pen!" Katrina interrupted, pulling one of several dozen out of a side-table drawer. She puuled the plastic casing out of it, wincing as she jabbed her aunt with it. Over a peroid of few seconds that stretched for lifetimes, Aunt Felicia's swelling went down, and the blue faded from her lips and eyelids. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief. She arranged her aunt more comfortably on the couch before running to check on Sammy. He had turned his machine off, and was sleeping soundly, without any signs of respiratory problems. She leaned against a wall in the hall near the front door, sinking to the hardwood floor.

"Is everything alright now?" Katrina nodded tiredly.

"Yes. Both of them are asleep and breathing normally." She sighed as she stood up. She did a double-take.

"Oh my Lord!" Katrina gasped. Then she laughed, "You _are_ like a friggin' ninja!" Dexter, who was standing in the hallway, said nothing. Katrina, ran a hand through her messy hair.

"Thanks. Thank you so much. If this were the old Georgia, I would owe you a cow." she joked.

"I had no idea what was going on,"

"I bet that doesn't happen very often," Katrina smiled wearily.

"It doesn't, " Dexter agreed proudly, "But I did hear Sammy on the phone, and I did know it was an asthma attack. From what Sammy was saying, I decided that his mother had been in some sort of accident that prevented her from coming to her son's aid. Had you waited a few seconds, you could have gotten a ride from Mr. Chavers, like I did." Dexter motioned out the window. Katrina turned. There was a little black van, still running, with an anxious-looking Mr. Chavers sitting in the drivers seat. Katrina laughed.

"Aw, I feel special." Katrina waved at Mr. Chavers.

"I reckon I'll have to wait 'till the ambulance can get here. God, this was... almost unfixable, for lack of a better word." Katrina flopped into an armchair. She looked at Dexter.

"No offense, sugah, but why did you come? This was not you're emergency. I'm thankful and all, but I could have handled it. You know, e ventually, after I settled my frazzled nerves." Dexter didn't hesitate.

"It was a natural instinct," Katrina nodded.

"You here a little kid on the phone, scared to death and sick, you become Superman like _that_," Katrina snapped her fingers for emphasis.

"I was a little surprised at how fast you moved," Katrina frowned, gazing at her sleeping cousin.

"Yes, well. Sammy... he's like my baby sister, before the... well, after that, I became a nut for his safety. I once fractured a man's wrist when he pushed Sammy down." Katrina smiled bitterly, "I kick myself everyday for the fact that it took Alyssa's _death_ to put my maternal instincts to use."

"_That_ was _not_ your fault, Katrina,"

"I didn't do anything to help!"

"What could you have done?" Katrina was silent, fuming. Then she sighed.

"Nothing. But... why?"

"Why what?"

"Look at me! I'm a teenage prodigy! You think I would notice storm clouds like that! You think I would bother to check the weather! You think I would have reinforced my own house rather than my lab!"

"I _think_ that this entire episode has re-opened old wounds." Katrina smiled weakly.

"New subject?"

"New subject," Dexter agreed.

"Alright, but not now. I hear sirens." Katrina opened the front door, allowing two paramedics to enter. She and Dexter slipped outside. Katrina dove into a bush suddenly, dragging Dexter with her.

"What was that for!" he shouted at her. Katrina clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I can't let the media see me!" Katrina whispered, pointing at a small camera crew, "I worked too hard for too long trying to shake those sons of side-winders, and I'm not about to let one picture ruin it!"

"What about your aunt and Sammy?" Dexter asked when Katrina had removed her hand. Katrina shook her head and shrugged.

"I dunno! We'll find out, I guess!" Katrina waited a few seconds, then dashed out of the bush, running for Mr. Chavers's van. She hopped in the back seat, followed by Dexter. Mr. Chavers turned around.

"Miss Silver, I-"

"Sorry sir, this isn't the time or place! We need to split, like now!"

"Why-"

"Do as she says!" Dexter commanded, looking out the window, spotting the camera crew walking towards the van. Mr. Chavers put the van into gear, backing up, and driving as quickly as he could down the road.

"Escaping the media, I see," Mr. Chavers said, not turning around. Katrina mumbled a "yessir".

"Oh, if only you were this secretive about our classroom, Miss Silver. You understand it's against the rules for you to simply run off of school property?" Katrina glared out of the window.

"I know sir. It will never happen again. But there was an emergency at home. I know that's no excuse-"

"I know of your emergency, and that is why I did not inform Principal Anders," Katrina looked up, surprised.

"Really?" Mr. Chavers nodded.

"I'm risking a lot more than a job, Miss Silver. I hope you understand that." Katrina nodded solemnly.

"Yes sir, thank you sir. For everything,"


	9. Chapter 9: Hello, Drama

_I know this took forever and a freaking day. I have been alternating between writer's block and full schedules. On top of that, I had a LONG chapter written, so long I almost had to divide it up, and my computer deleted it. The entire thing. So I've had to try and rewrite what I could. It probably sounds crappy and lame, but it's the best I could do. I'm so sorry! I need to start backing up my stuff, 'cause this crap has happened before. I want to send a shout-out to my reviewers (_**Becca-TheCutie; DarkxSonata; InuyashaPrincess14; Animelover1002; **_) to the people who subscribed even when I hadn't added anything new ( _**jaspertheninja; Naruto-Yaoi-Fanchick; WhiteRose93; Elouise Victoria**_), and the writers who stuck by me in all my laziness and frustration (_**Animelover1002; InuyashaPrincess14; Jacky-lulu; DarkxSonata; Gorillaz Fan**_) and to __, it was just scary how we were on the same wavelength. Seriously, not even kidding, all that was totally in my chapter that mysteriously disappeared. I love you guys! Don't give up on me!_

Mr. James Chavers drove in silence for most of the ride, occasionally stealing glances at the disgruntled youths in his backseat. Teenagers. Genii or not, all teenagers were the same. Self-reliant and independent. In some cases, this was a fault. Mr. Chavers was the sort of man to help these specific types of teenagers along. In this case, he had put his career at stake. And such a well-paying, fulfilling career it was. But perhaps there was a way to avoid all the unsavory drama of Principal Anders confronting him later on in the week? It wasn't that big of a deal, he would say. He had simply taken an early leave to assist a student in a medical procedure. That sounded legit. He would put this on his report, he decided. He took another look at Katrina in the backseat.

She twiddled her hair in her fingers and kept glancing around and taking deep breaths. Anxiety. Could he blame her? She had been through an awful lot today. First, there was the commotion on the bus (oh, yes, he had heard of it, from one of his more gossip-inclined students), and then the family emergency. All piled on top of her first day, the incident in the cafeteria, moving more than a thousand miles, and... well... He was slightly amazed that she had not broken yet. How much weight could one ninth grader handle? Surely not much more. Or would she simply continue to carry her load until she snapped?

He glanced back again, this time at Dexter, who glared out of the window, muttering something. Mr. Chavers, who was gifted in many things, could also lip read. True, it was little difficult, because Dexter had his head turned, but the message was clear. _I should have gotten there sooner. _Mr. Chavers barely resisted a sigh of exasperation. He had known Dexter for years, despite the fact that he had only started teaching him this year. From what he had witnessed, Dexter was extremely territorial, especially when it came to family and friends. He always needed some way to assist one of them. This time, he was hardly neccessary. The situation could have been handled perfectly well without him in Katrina's hands. Eventually. Perhaps that had bothered him? Mr. Chavers muddled it over in his head. Teenagers. He hadn't been one for thirty-two years, but still, he did remember some things. He remembered the emotions, mainly. He hid a bitter smile. What was the word teens used nowadays? The emotions were... jank. Terrible, yet invigorating. And highly irritating.

If you focused on emotions, high school seemed to be out to get you. Now, should one focus on good friends, good teachers, and a healthy lifestyle, it is often remembered fondly. _What fickle creatures students are_, Mr. Chavers thought. But, such was the teenage perspective, looking down a narrow tunnel and only able to focus on one thing at once. Oh, there may be several things in a straight line, but a teenager could only focus on one line of events or people at a time. Right now, Katrina was focused on her aunt, perhaps her eagerness to get to her aunt, and how she had rushed from the school without a second thought. All things that were related. More than likely, she was upset at herself for her hasty behavior, though wrestling with how sorry she should be. After all, her aunt was alive thanks to her hasty behavior. It oftened saddened Mr. Chavers to see his students suffering from internal struggles. And every single one of his students had some sort of conflict battling in their skulls.

Mr. Chavers pulled into the Mercy Hospital parking lot, pulling up alongside the curb so Katrina could slide out.

"Thank you, Mr. Chavers," she said again. Mr. Chavers rolled his window down and handed her a silp of paper. Nervousness flashed on her features, but Mr. Chavers laughed.

"You're not in trouble, Miss Silver. This is simply my cell number and e-mail, should you need to contact me. Remember though, my dear, I'm a teacher, not a taxi service." The corners of Katrina's mouth twitched slightly, a smile that seemed to die in her eyes. She nodded once and turned on her heel, hopping onto the curb and striding into the hospital. In less than a minute, Mr. Chavers was on the road again, heading towards the school. There were still two hours left. He could still do the job he was paid to do. But first, something needed to be said.

"In my entire teaching career, which may now be short-lived, I have never seen two students abandon school rules to go see a relative on the word of a toddler. Especially when the toddler is of no relation whatsoever to one of the students," he said, not looking back. Dexter said nothing.

"I admire your chivalry, Mr. McPherson," Mr. Chavers said eventually. Dexter gave him a hard look.

"It wasn't chivalry. Katrina could have handled the situation properly, and her aunt would have been fine," Dexter said monotonously. Mr. Chavers lifted his head in a slight nod.

"True. Miss Silver is a highly intelligent young lady. However, that doesn't explain why you found it terribly neccessary to run after her." He saw Dexter flinch at the choice of words.

"She... she might have needed my help. I could have been there, if only for emotional support," Mr. Chavers snorted.

"You don't give _emotional_ support. You are usually the one helping people. It is usually you performing the miracles, Mr. McPherson." Dexter frowned. Mr. Chavers swallowed, partly from feeling slightly guilty that he was needling his favorite student, and partly because he felt his words rang true.

"Does it bother you that Katrina could handle the situation without you?" There was a heavy silence in the vehicle. Mr. Chavers wondered if he had gone too far.

"Bother me?" Dexter replied eventually, "You make it sound as though I'm some sort of sexist. No, it doesn't bother me. I'm glad to have finally met someone who can walk a straight line on their own. Katrina can prove to be remarkable under difficult circumstances. And... she doesn't respond well to chauvanists." Mr. Chavers chuckled slightly.

"No. I don't imagine so. Southern girls... I knew one once. Fiery thing, but sweeter than a Georgia peach." Dexter leaned forward, slightly interested. Mr. Chavers complied.

"Pretty young thing, and awfully generous. She had pride to a fault, a temper to match, though she possessed a caring side that had the whole city admiring her. As the mayor's neice, she was expected to behave _so_ well and _so_ sophisticated. It was amazing how much we had in common. Wrote her a poem once, you know... erm, but anyway," Mr. Chavers cleared his throat to stop his rambling, "It was expected of a charming Southern woman, to be the perfect hostess, to be polite to everyone. Think _Gone with the Wind_, Mr. McPherson." Dexter's eyes widened slightly. Mr. Chavers took no notice, too enraptured in his own reminiscing.

"But, she was a spitfire. She didn't like her preset lifestyle. She didn't like the boundaries. And she often bottled everything up. As such, she often exploded at the most inconvenient times. A lady in one minute, a farmgirl tackling another girl in the mud. But that's another story for another time. Nasty fight. All because of gossip. You would do well to heed my advice, Mr. McPherson," Mr. Chavers stopped his car in a lot, next to the school building.

"What advice is that, sir?" Mr. Chavers twisted in his seat, grinning sympathetically at his student.

"Pardon my language, Mr. McPherson... but you are gonna have one helluva time charming one helluva lady. Southern girls... it would be best to treat them with respect. But don't insult them by being a pushover. Stand up, both _for _her and _against_ her, if need be. This may, in fact, be the most difficult experiment of your life." Dexter had been glancing out the window uncomfortably until Mr. Chavers had finshed. He met his teacher's gaze steadily.

"I think I'm ready for it, sir," Mr. Chavers shook his head, still smiling.

"Good luck, son. You're going to need it."

Katherine Lane was furious. Absolutely livid. How _dare_ that little _snot_ waltz in to _Katherine Lane's_ school, _Katherine Lane's _classroom, and expect to get away with insulting her in more ways than one? _Always picking fights, that hussy_, Katherine thought, crumpling up a piece of paper she had been writing on for an hour. Katherine was already quite pleased with her course of action. It had only taken a single drop of a certain special something Katherine had found in a rare plant and a well-used cell phone. By attacking the Silver aunt and cousin, Katherine effectively harmed Katrina emotionally, while at the same time embarassing her in front of everyone. Bonus, her dashing out the classroom like an idiot. But there must be something more. What was Katherine missing in her scheme? What must be done to force that tramp back to Hooterville? Stealing Katherine's limelight, her class, her _man_ for Christ's sake! How _DARE_ Silver! Katherine stabbed her blue ink pen into the paper, breaking the tip and spilling ink everywhere. She snarled and hurled her notebook into the wastebasket by Mr. Chavers's desk. Traitor. Katherine had always been his favorite student. She knew that; everyone did. It was common knowledge until Katrina crawled in here with her sob story. And he BELIEVED it, what's worse. Katherine tore out _another_ sheet of paper from ANOTHER notebook, got _ANOTHER_ pen, and scribbled yet _ANOTHER _plan of action. Stab. Kill. Annihilate. Destroy. Must. Get. Rid. Of. Silver. Katherine blinked. She got it. A brilliant plan, and it wasn't even illegal. All she needed now was permission.

The elevation platform hummed, signaling its rise and descent. Katherine watched as Mr. Chavers and her soon-to-be boyfriend/ future husband slowly approached the ground. Katherine hid a girlish smile (which many described as creepy) and quieted the hyperactive butterflies in her stomach. Scheme now, admiring later. She skipped to her teacher. She didn't catch the tired sigh from Mr. Chavers, nor the sidestep away that Dexter took.

"Mistoh Chavohs..." Katherine said, finger on chin. Too much. Lose the baby voice. Mr. Chavers pulled a tight smile.

"Yes, Katherine?" he asked. The man was tired. Who could blame him, what with chasing Silver around like a dogcatcher. Katherine was pleased with her comparison. Katherine shifted from side to side, hands behind her back.

"I was just wondering... as part of the student body, it's our right to attend school events, yes? Our _obligation_ to represent the more gifted students?" Mr. Chavers blinked.

"Eherm. Yes, but Miss Lane-"

"So I thought," Katherine interrupted, "we, as a class, should attend the Freshman End-of-the-Year Dance. If only to get a little variety in our sterile, stuffy lives." Katherine was speaking at least an octave higher than normal, voice squeaking on "lives". Mr. Chavers pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lights? Audio?" he suggested quietly, hoping against hope. Katherine's tiny smile slipped, the corners of her mouth twitching. _Stupid, fat, incompetent oaf_, she thought.

"Nooo, silly! Actually take part! You know, Mr. Chavers, there is a talent portion. That new... band... thing... is going to play! This will be a perfect opprotunity to show everyone how talented we are! Or, at least, me!" This statement did not seem concieted in the slightest to Katherine. She really was very thick-headed. Mr. Chavers mulled it over. He cleaned his glasses on his tie.

"Very well, Miss Lane. If you truly have your heart set on this, I will arrange it with Principal Anders." Mr. Chavers clapped his hands, a habit his students were by now used to.

"Extra credit!" he called, mainly to Mandark, who was on the opposite side of the room, "Program your files into the school's database. Foreign exchange students if you must. We must not arouse suspicion at the dance." Katherine giggled with glee, clapping her hands and hopping up and down. Dexter shuddered. Scariest. Happy dance. Ever.

Katrina paced relentlessly in front of her aunt's hospital bed. Felicia was struggling into conciousness by now, but Katrina had no desire to startle her aunt into a coma. It wasn't until Felicia pulled herself into a sitting position that Katrina rushed to her side.

"...Aunt Felicia...?" the girl asked, guilt eating her away inside. Felicia's unfocused eyes drifted over her niece.

"Oh, Katrina... What... What ha-"

"You had an allergic reaction. To cinnamon."

"But where-"

"It was in the pancakes."

"I didn't-"

"I did. I'm sorry! I forgot how allergic you were!" Felicia laughed harshly. It sounded like she had gravel in her throat.

"Me, an allergic reaction? Katrina, sweetie, I haven't... been allergic to... cinnamon in years... Since you were eight! Don't you... remember the pie... I made for your uncle? That thing was... loaded with cinnamon! Why I remember just last week..." Aunt Felicia wheezed, breathing heavily so that she had to pause to catch her breath just talking to Katrina. But her niece was no longer listening. Not allergic? And she hadn't been for seven years? _This doesn't add up_, Katrina thought, mind racing._ Not the cinnamon. Not my fault. Doctors confirmed it was a reaction, though! If not the cinnamon, then what?_ The more she thought about it, the more suspicious she became. Why was Aunt Felicia at home? She was supposed to leave work early today. Sammy should have had a sitter. But there was no sitter. How did Sammy get ahold of Aunt Felicia's phone? How did he call at all, let alone remember seven specific digits? And _how_ did the media find out? No, no, no. It didn't make sense.

"Aunt Felicia," Katrina started, turning to her aunt. Felicia was asleep. Katrina shook her head slightly. There was work to be done. But could she do it? After all she had put her poor aunt through? _Get a spine, Silver_, she ordered herself. Opening her purse, she thanked her paranoid brain that she had the eqivalent of a full forensics lab in her medium-sized Vera Bradley. She swabbed her aunt's mouth and lips for any leftover substances and took the smallest amount of blood possible. She glanced guilitly at her aunt. She was now breaking another rule. Banishment from her lab. But it was necessary to find out what was going on. Katrina didn't like confusion. It led to surprises.

Katrina's initial plan was to wire her house to prevent any other mishaps; that is, if they proved to be accidents at all. _Oh, calm down, Silver!_ Katrina scolded herself for the tenth time. As previously stated, she _planned_ to wire her house, but there was a certain three-year-old preventing her from accomplishing her task. This three-year-old had had a particularly traumatizing day, and Katrina had no wish to leave him unattended again. She attempted for an hour to handle him herself, both entertaining him and setting up fish-eye lenses. Watching him and planting microphones. Holding Sammy in one arm the entire time wore on Katrina's patience and concentration. At the end of her rope, she reluctantly made a decision. Her trust in DeeDee had taken a serious blow today with the older girl's failure to show up, but there was still no one she trusted more with a monkey-shaped backpack to Sammy's overalls, Katrina ran through all of her house's wiring in her head, picking out the weak points and making plans to bolster them. Her multi-tasking was become a habit.

Sammy's monkey-backpack was not a backpack at all. Rather, a simple stuffed monkey with clasps in the front on its hands and feet that, when connected, formed an "x" shape. The monkey's tail had a plastic, retractable handle on the end. Sammy was actually on a leash. Sammy was unaware of this fact, however, instead deciding to use his limited thought process in his imaginative adventures, zipping around in a fighter jet with his arms held out to his sides. Now, it may not make sense to put a toddler on a leash when you are just taking a walk to the next-door neighbors' house, but Sammy was hyper, in blissfully ignorant good spirits following his near-death experience. Katrina didn't want to run the risk of having him tun into traffic, or the bushes, or a ditch, or attaching himself to one of the pillars on the front porch, claiming to be a sacrifice to the crayon gods, or something ridiculous like that. Katrina remembered dismantling her first computer at his age. She felt like she had missed something major in her life, never having that simple existence Sammy had. Nothing was ever simple for her. She liked it like that.

Pulling Sammy behind her gently, Katrina stepped onto the McPherson's front porch and rang the doorbell. There was a thump, a small crash, and a shrill "I'm coming! Hold on!" from behind the door. Katrina winced at Sammy, who gave her a grin. The door flew open.

"HELLO!" DeeDee shouted excitedly. Sammy strained against his harness. He even shot Katrina a dirty look. DeeDee pressed her hands to her face in mock-surprise and concern.

"Oh no! Sammy! You're on the _leash_!" DeeDee said dramatically, releasing the boy, who took off like a rocket into the house. DeeDee waved him on.

"Run, Forrest, run!" she shouted after him. DeeDee looked over her shoulder at Katrina, catching her look.

"Yeah, that's right, I watched 'Forrest Gump'," DeeDee stated matter-of-factly. Katrina nodded. Off-topic, off-topic.

"I certainly hope I'm not imposing on anything you might be doing," Katrina said, keeping the edge off of her voice. DeeDee shook her head.

"Just TV. And you know how much I love Sammy." Katrina cocked her head to the side.

"Yes. Well. I'm sure you must have been terribly busy this morning, then." DeeDee frowned in confusion.

"No... I'm free, just like I am every time your aunt goes to work early. You called and said she was staying home today. So I didn't bother." Katrina's eyes darkened.

"I... called you..." It wasn't a question. DeeDee nodded slowly.

"Yeah..."

"And you're sure it was me?"

"Your voice. Your number." Katrina added this strange happening to her steadily growing list of suspicious activities.

"Right. Well, thank you, DeeDee. I'll be back in a bit. Um, don't let him have chocolate. Okay, bye." Katrina said quickly, jumping off of the porch and sprinting to her house, swinging through the doorway and slamming the door witha a slam. DeeDee stared after her, confused and slightly worried. She slowly shut her own door. Katrina trusted her with Sammy. And Katrina hardly trusted anyone with anything. DeeDee wasn't going to let her down. She turned around, scanning the room for Sammy... who...wasn't there... There was a slam from upstairs. A crash. Sammy came barreling downstairs with a towel around his neck like a cape. He ran circles around tables and chairs, zipping by DeeDee, intent on wearing himself out. DeeDee followed after, keeping this from falling, that from breaking. Sometimes, she just wasn't fast enough. One such incident involved a rather large china cabinet. A large, heavy, very full china cabinet.

There was a rather large crashing sound from outside Dexter's bedroom door. In his house, crashes were not uncommon, but this one seemed particularly loud. He would have ignored it, if not for the loud series of thumps that followed shortly after. Sighing, he waited for the inevitable high-pitched giggle that would confirm his suspicion that his sister was to blame. As more worrisome bumps and noises filled the house, Dexter began to think that perhaps it wasn't his sister who was to blame.

"DEEDEE!" he shouted. No answer but another thump and what sounded like an "ouch". Dexter slammed his pencil on his desk, where he was drawing some schematics, and stomped out of his room. Grumbling, he made his way downstairs. He stood on the bottom step, glancing around for his sister. He had only taken one step off of the stairwell before a little flash of white tripped him up. Dexter fell to the ground, surprised, staring after the tiny bundle. DeeDee came barreling around the corner and ended up tripping over Dexter.

"DEEDEE! Get off of me!" Dexter yelled, shoving his sister. DeeDee picked herself up, hair disheveled, eyes huge, looking around the room. There was a thump, and DeeDee made a move to follow the sound. Dexter grabbed her elbow, spinning her around.

"What was that?" he demanded, straightening his glasses and labcoat. DeeDee pulled away from her brother. She jerked a thumb behind her.

"That... was Sammy Silver," she said breathlessly. Dexter squinted at her. Then he pointed in Sammy's general direction'

"_That_ was Katrina's cousin?"

"Yes, I just said that. And if you'll ex_cuse_ me, I have to go catch him before he breaks something else." DeeDee ran off, followed by Dexter.

"Something _else?_"

"Didn't you hear all the crashes?"

"Yes, but I assumed-"

"QUIET!" DeeDee suddenly cried, flattening herself against a wall. She pointed at the doorway.

"He's right there..." she whispered. She peeked cautiously around the corner. Dexter copied her. He frowned.

"I don't see anything," he said, stepping aroud DeeDee to get a better view of the room.

"Hm... I could've sworn..." DeeDee said, confused. Then she squealed and ducked behind the wall again. Dexter did not have time to question her actions, or the annoying sound she had made, because it was at that exact moment that Sammy tackled him to the floor with an "oof". Sammy grinned at Dexter from under his "cape".

"RAR!" he growled, baring his teeth. He rolled off of Dexter and, after turning in a circle, sat on the ground, playing with his toes. Dexter propped himself up on his elbows. He turned to DeeDee.

"What did you feed him?" he asked. DeeDee shrugged, shaking her head.

"Nothing. He was like this when he came over."

"He seems abnormally hyperactive."

"He's three. And a quarter," DeeDee offered in explanation. For the second time today, Dexter picked himself up.

"Oh, well that explains everything," he muttered sarcastically.

"Well, Katrina-"

"KAYKAY!" Sammy hollered suddenly, jumping up and flapping his arms like a bird. He turned to look up at Dexter.

"Want KayKay," he said, pouting. When this yeilded no results, Sammy sat on the ground again, repeating the phrase over and over again.

"WANT KAYKAY! KAYKAY! KAYKAY! KAYKAY! WANT KAYKAY!" the toddler screamed. DeeDee looked down at him disapprovingly.

"Sammy, you know better!" she said. Sammy looked up at her with his big blue eyes.

"Where is KayKay?" he asked, looking shamefaced. DeeDee picked him up.

"KayKay is doing big kid stuff right now Sammy. Your daddy will be home soon, though. Then you can go see KayKay, okay?" Sammy looked at DeeDee.

"Big kid? Imma big kid!" he declared proudly. He crossed his tiny arms and looked at the girl defiantly, as though daring her to argue.

"Yes, Sammy, you're a big boy. _Isn't _he?" DeeDee prompted, elbowing Dexter in the arm.

"Erm... yes. A very mature young boy." Sammy beamed and scrambled from DeeDee's arms. He waddled to the couch, where he climbed up and sat down. He looked up at the older teenagers.

"Imma big kid. Big kids gotta act right, that's what Mama says," he explained, sitting perfectly still. DeeDee smiled and backed out of the room. She picked up the phone and dialed a number, still smiling.

"Who are you calling?" Dexter whispered, not wanting to disturb Sammy on the couch and get him riled up again. DeeDee spoke, hardly moving her lips: "I'm calling Katrina. Sammy's done this whole big-boy thing before. It's about to get a whole lot worse, and he already knocked over Mom's china cabinet..." Dexter cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

"The child is a ticking time bomb," he mumbled.


	10. Chapter 10: Volitile

Katrina was running her aunt's saliva through a scanner when the phone rang upstairs. She looked up at her ceiling, arms spread wide, annoyed.

"Really?" she snapped at no one, "Seriously, right now?" The phone persisted, and Katrina stripped off her rubber gloves and safety goggles, grumbling as she stomped upstairs. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she approached the phone in the coffee table, pressing the "receive" button.

"Silver residence, Katrina speaking. Who may I ask is calling?" she spoke into the phone, voice light and casual.

"Katrina, you're going to have to come get Sammy." Katrina blinked, raising an eyebrow.

"...DeeDee?" she asked uncertainly. DeeDee had never asked for Sammy to be picked up early. Ever. And why on earth was she whispering?

"SHH! Quiet! He's pulling a Pamper's kid thing, and he's been sitting still for about two minutes...? Anyway, he's about to pop!"

"Pamper's kid... thing..."

"Ya, you know. 'I'm a big kid now'? The little jingle?"

"I'm quite certain that is copyrighted to Pull-Ups."

"Whatever! Come get your demon-possessed toddler!"

"DeeDee, I'm awfully busy. Couldn't you hold out until my uncle comes home?"

"NO! Sammy, don't touch that! What? No, I can't wait. I'm sorry, but something has gotten into him, and I have to clean up the mess, so please?" Katrina hesitated. Then she sighed.

"Alright, alright. I'll be right over." She hung up before DeeDee could reply. Her watch had beeped. An alert. The diagnostics were completed. Katrina ran downstairs and printed off the report. She stared at the papers for a few seconds. Uncle Jeremy could find these, and she could get in trouble. No science, no lab, no productive thought, blah, blah, blah... But there were so many papers, she had to read them now! The mystery of her aunt's reaction depended on it. But she had to go get Sammy, too, and God knows what her cousin would do with random papers with colorful lines on them.

She held the papers tightly in her hand as she marched out the front door.

"Good Lord... If it could've waited just twenty more minutes... Needs a nap, that's what... Honestly..." Katrina grumbled, looking helplessly at the thick stack of papers in her hand. It would take her an hour or two in complete isolation and silence to get through all the results. She couldn't read them accurately with Sammy running around, more so with her uncle stomping around the house, making dinner or taking a shower. Cursing the turn of events, Katrina rang the doorbell for the second time that day. It wasn't a long wait. She had barely dropped her hand before the door flew open and she was pulled inside.

"What on earth-"

"SHH!" DeeDee hushed her. Too late. Sammy came dashing around the corner, pointing himself at his cousin. He was fast for a three-year-old, like a little torpedo.

"KAYKAY!" he squealed, head lowered like a ram. Katrina handed the papers to DeeDee and crouched down, holding out one hand. Sammy ran into said hand, and Katrina pushed him back so she wouldn't be knocked over, catching him with her other arm and scooping him up. He was immediately silent and his eyelids drooped tiredly. DeeDee sighed in relief.

"I don't know HOW you did that, but I'm sure glad you did," she said. Katrina took the papers back and scrutinized them.

"...I don't have time to read these! F-" Katrina started. Sammy blinked innocently at her.

"...ladoodle. Fladoodle," she covered quickly. Sammy yawned.

"Nice save," DeeDee snickered. Katrina waved her hand as if to say, "What else could I do?" DeeDee shrugged. She squinted suspiciously at the sleeping three-year-old in Katrina's arms.

"What is with him today? He acted like a freaking nutcase!" she whispered. Katrina looked down at Sammy. Odd. He was... twitching, and mumbling in his sleep. He kept scratching at his face and arms, and he was breathing rapidly.

"You didn't give him anything, did you, DeeDee?" Katrina asked, scrutinizing her cousin. DeeDee shrugged again.

"Nope! He just kinda... went psycho! I don't know if it's the air freshener, or the pollen count outside..."

"No, Sammy was very hyperactive before I brought him over. You see, I have work that needs to be done, and a baby dashing about will do nothing for my work ethic. Or sanity," Katrina added tiredly. DeeDee blinked sympathetically.

"Well, he wasn't ALL that bad. Maybe I over-reacted. Dexter certainly didn't help. You'd think he was baby-phobic or something..." Katrina snapped her fingers, which is difficult when one is holding a large stack of papers in one hand and a child in the other.

"What? What'd I say?" DeeDee asked, recognizing the younger girl's trademark "idea time" snap-the-fingers move.

"First off, the fear of children is called 'pedophobia'. Secondly, where could I find your brother?" Katrina asked. DeeDee grinned.

"I know something you don't know..." she sang, teasing her young friend. Katrina put a hip to the side, tilting her head in a sassy way.

"Really, DeeDee? Really?"

The blonde dragged the redhead upstairs, after depositing Sammy in the living room for a snooze. Katrina could barely restrain herself from rolling her eyes. 'I know something you don't know'. Pft, she thought snootily. She felt bad afterwards, but her pride! Damn her pride! If she didn't watch it, she was going to end up old and alone! DeeDee barely paused in front of her brother's bedroom door. Katrina blushed furiously.

"DeeDee!" she snapped, "This is his _room_! You can't just go bargin' in on him and whatnot! I mean, good _lawd_, chile!" Katrina drawled, the words spilling from her mouth in a thick accent. Oh, how she simply _adored_ how her accent popped up at the most inconvenient times. Sarcasm, sarcasm. DeeDee stared at her. Katrina lowered her head. DeeDee gasped. Then she grinned. Then she giggled.

"HA! I knew it!"

"Knew what?"

"Nothing..."

"Dagnabbit, DeeDee, am I gonna be able to give these here papers to Dexter or not?"

"Sure, sure..." DeeDee assured her, dragging the other girl inside. Katrina didn't look anywhere but the floor. DeeDee smacked her teeth.

"The room's clean, Katrina."

"I don't doubt that, but-"

"Why are you freaking out?"

"I'm not freaking-"

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Are."

"Not.

"Fine. Then don't scream if you're so calm and collected."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't. Scream." DeeDee warned finally, as she pushed Katrina onto the rug in the middle of the room. The rug was there, and then it was not. On the way down, Katrina screamed. The entire time. DeeDee laughed and did a flip into the chute after her.

Katrina fell for what seemed like an endlessly long time. She held the papers in her hands tightly to her chest, unable to stop her bun from flying free, her long hair whipping around her. She screamed bloody murder, both in surprise and... delight? It reminded the girl of a roller coaster, and she loved it. Well, she hated DeeDee for pushing her into it, but loved the ride itself. She tumbled out of the exit, landing on her front, splayed out like a pancake.

"Oh, that was graceful, Silver..." she huffed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. DeeDee flew out of the chute after her, twirling and landing on one foot.

"Ballerina..." Katrina mumbled grumpily.

"You know it," DeeDee laughed, winking. She gestured around them.

"You dropped your papers..."

"... I know..." Katrina growled.

"Hey, don't snap at me! I'll just leave you on the floor, you watch me," DeeDee threatened. Katrina just sighed. She pushed herself up onto her knees and began stacking the papers, some of which were still fluttering to the ground. DeeDee snatched them out of the air.

"What are these?" she asked, flipping the colored paper every which way, trying to make sense of it.

"Diagnostics."

"For?"

"My aunt's reaction is suspicious. Also, Sammy's odd behavior disturbs me, so I'll need to run some tests on him as well," Katrina explained, standing up. DeeDee handed her the papers she had gathered.

"Paranoid."

"You know it," Katrina teased, most unlike her, "No one ever died from being too careful."

"Except that one guy on "1,000 Ways to Die", who was sleepwalking and got blasted in the head with his own trip-wire shotgun alarm system," the older girl countered. Katrina remained silent. What response was there to give?

"You better pick up your mess, or my brother will kill you," DeeDee warned. Katrina just stood, brushing off her jeans, although there was no dirt to speak of upon the white cloth.

"Where exactly can I find your bloodthirsty brother?" Miss Silver asked, organizing her stack of papers. DeeDee pointed behind her in a general direction.

"That way," She said simply. Katrina looked around the blonde. Then she squinted at DeeDee.

"That way?" she asked, not quite believing it.

"Uh-huh." Katrina shrugged.

"Ohhh kay.I can tell by your tone and submissive attitude that you won't be accompanying me?"

"Nooope," DeeDee sang.

"Well, how do you expect me to find him then?" DeeDee was already on her way to the exit.

"Follow the sound of Russian curse words!" she called over her shoulder. She just caught Katrina's widened eyes before the pneumatic doors hissed shut. DeeDee glanced at her Pretty Pony Princess watch. 4:15.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, "If Katrina doesn't resurface in forty-five minutes, it can mean one of two things: Something really good has happened, or something really, really bad has happened."

Katrina was grumbling to herself, as she often did when ranting loudly was not an appropriate response. _Sure_, she thought to herself, _I'll just wander around this labyrinth for a few hours, no big…_ It's not like she particularly hated the fact that she was surrounded by so much marvelous technology. Rather, she was annoyed with her current situation. Her hands were sweaty, her heart-rate was up, and her stomach felt odd.

"I hope I'm not ill," she said quietly. Walking was beginning to become a tad annoying.

"How huge is this place?" she asked aloud.

"Well, this particular area is about two miles in every direction. The lab itself is… approximately thirty square miles." Katrina nearly dropped all of her papers again. She turned around.

"Damn you!" she hissed, "You did it again!" Dexter held up his hands.

"Hey, I went out of my way _not _to sneak up on you. Maybe you need your hearing checked, Miss Silver, " he countered. She was about to make a smartass comment, but thought better of it. He was probably right. Maybe eight hours a day on an iPod wasn't exactly healthy for her ears.

"I imagine that you came for a specific reason, not just to shoot the breeze," Dexter said eventually. Katrina sniggered.

"'Shoot the breeze'? Grandaddy? Is that you?" Katrina teased, a hand shading her eyes. Dexter shook his head, smirking.

"Maybe you need your eyes checked as well." Katrina shifted the stack of papers, the corner of which was digging into her arm.

"Well, Mr. McPherson, I did come for a specific reason. I need a little help with something." Dexter's eyes lit up.

"With what?" he asked, like a boy with a birthday present. Katrina held out a sheet for him to see.

"If you can help me figure these out, I'd appreciate it," she said. Dexter glanced at the sheet.

"I thought you said your aunt had an allergic reaction?" Katrina's eyes narrowed, turning a dark green.

"That's what I originally thought, until my aunt told me that she hasn't been allergic to cinnamon since I was little."

"Well, at least it's not your fault," Dexter offered. Katrina looked at him.

"But whose fault is it? Whatever happened to my aunt wasn't natural, and this doesn't seem like any kind of accident."

"Well, sit down and we'll figure this out together. _Imean_, I'll do my part and you'll do yours, but we'll be working on the same thing. At the same time. In the same place…" Dexter finished awkwardly. Katrina paused.

"…Right," she agreed.

Ten minutes into the diagnostics, Katrina's mind began to wander. She stared intently at the same colored chart and numbers until her eyes began to water. A song swam around in her head, bits and pieces of the chorus floundering around in her brain.

"Katrina."

"Hm?" the girl mumbled, not really listening.

"You were singing." The girl sat bolt upright.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled self-consciously, "My mind was somewhere else…" Dexter nodded.

"I could tell, since you've been staring at the same paper for five minutes, and you've been humming the same chorus for nearly that long."

"…My bad…" Katrina looked back down at her paper. There was nothing genetically wrong with Aunt Felicia. So her reaction wasn't natural. According to the next chart, her prescription medication was stable, and had been for two weeks. She was hydrated, very healthy, physically fit for a woman her age. What could have caused the woman to nearly keel over? Dexter read over the toxicology report. He blinked, moved it closer to his face, and read over it again. He suddenly stood up and rushed to the monitor. He scanned the diagnostics data and waited. Katrina put down her paper and stood beside him.

"What is it?" she asked. Dexter shook his head.

"Nothing good…" he said quietly. Katrina looked at the readout blinking on the monitor. After a few seconds, there was a small beep. A name appeared in Latin, pulsating softly in green:

_**Acokanthera oppositifolia**_

Katrina stared at the name for a long time.

"Katrina?"

"Where… where would… how…"

"Katrina?"

"Where would my aunt get Bushman's Poison?"

"Perhaps she acquired it from somewhere-"  
"Other than the fact that my aunt hasn't been within six-thousand miles of South Africa, Dexter!" Katrina snapped. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Could she have purchased it from somewhere?"

"_Bushman's Poison?_" Katrina repeated incredulously.

"There are certain places that one can acquire fatal plants," Dexter pointed out.

"Yes, but are any of them near here?" There was a brief moment of silence as the genii thought.

"Your uncle is a deputy of police, yes?" Dexter asked. Katrina looked up.

"His last bust was two days ago, it was in the paper."

"He arrested two men-"

"Caught smuggling-"

"Illegal substances-"

"Across state lines," Katrina finished, "They were caught with marijuana, cocaine and… several toxic plants…" Katrina grabbed the papers and organized them again.

"I have to go ask my uncle what they were caught with. In the meantime…" she said hurriedly, giving Dexter the cotton swab with Sammy's DNA, "Could you run this for me? Sammy's behavior strikes me as decidedly odd." Dexter nodded. He turned and went to work. Katrina hesitated for a minute.

"Thank you," she said. The words felt unfinished, like she should have said something else. She bit her lower lip, feeling awkward. Then she walked away, feeling like a moron for reasons she couldn't fathom.


	11. Chapter 11: Mission

That night, at the dinner table, Katrina sat across from her uncle. On her left sat her cousin in his high chair. On her right, her (still weak) aunt was trying to coax Sammy to eat his "nummy, nummy veggie-bulls". The toddler evaded onslaught after onslaught of airplanes and choo-choos as his mother tried to trick him into opening his mouth. Katrina silently forked a Brussels sprout, eyes narrowed as thoughts buzzed in her skull. Uncle Jeremy gnawed quietly on a chicken leg and stared hard at the teenager. Finally, the police officer put his food down, or at least moved it away from his face.

"Katrina Fiore Silver, where were you between the hours of oh-four-hundred and oh-five-hundred?" Aunt Felicia looked up at her husband curiously. Katrina swallowed her food, quietly laying her fork on her plate.

"I was asleep," she answered blandly. Uncle Jeremy narrowed his eyes.

"You were asleep." Katrina nodded.

"Yes. Between four and five A.M. I was asleep upstairs." Aunt Felicia rolled her eyes and sighed. Uncle Jeremy thought it over.

"Fine. Why weren't you home this afternoon between the hours of four and five?" Katrina braced herself. She was determined not to lie.

"I was next door," she said nonchalantly. Her uncle made a strange noise, and his grip seemed to get tighter on the chicken leg he was still holding.

"Why… were you next door?" he asked slowly. Don't lie.

"DeeDee called. She asked if I could come and get Sammy." Aunt Felicia's head snapped up.

"Why was Sammy next door?" Katrina mentally cursed herself. Crap, crap, crap.

"You know how Sammy is. He loves DeeDee," Katrina said slowly. Technically not a lie. Jeremy Silver was never one to stray off topic, however.

"It doesn't take you an hour to drop off Sammy. What were you doing, Katrina?" Don't lie.

"If you must know, I was talking. To Dexter." Jeremy Silver's face contorted in a way that Katrina couldn't read, although Sammy found it highly amusing.

"About what, dear?" Aunt Felicia said, noting her husband's red complexion.

"…Science…" Felicia beamed that ever-so-annoying grin that every mother delights in wearing at the most inconvenient and inappropriate times. She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest.

"Oh, Katrina! Why do you never tell me about these things, sweetheart?" she cooed. Katrina's fork froze halfway to her mouth.

"What things?" Felicia rolled her eyes.

"Your first crush, sweetie!" Katrina's fork clattered to her plate and her mouth dropped open. Jeremy Silver snapped his chicken bone in half with one hand and choked on his sweet tea that he held in the other.

"He's not… I mean, I don't… but it was just… NO!" Katrina stuttered, face burning. She didn't know whether to hide or run. Both? Mr. Silver slammed his fist on the table, still grasping half of the chicken bone.

"Damn right 'no'! You're too young to have a boyfriend…" Mr. Silver paused as the weight of the word robbed him of his oxygen, "… let alone go over to its house and 'talk' with it for an hour!" Katrina could feel her eyes darken.

"He's not an 'it', Uncle Jeremy, and he's my friend. Just my friend," the teenager said pointedly to her aunt. Ooo, Sammy's voice trilled in her head, KayKay lied to Mama! Katrina clawed at the table. Shut up, shut up, shut up- Aunt Felicia waved her niece's insistent denials away, already calculating the cost of dinners and movies.

"I know what teenage boys are like! I've busted quite a few of 'em, and nine times outta ten there were at least three guys and one girl!" Mr. Silver snapped. Katrina sat rigid in her chair.

"Just because you caught a couple of college kids having a four-way doesn't mean that all teenage boys are like that. He's not like that," she said softly, keeping her temper in check as much as she could.

"How would you know? All teenage boys are into something. How old is he? Fifteen? Sixteen? At his age he's either after sex, in a gang, or on drugs," Mr. Silver finished, slightly shrugging as he did so. Katrina clenched her fist and punched her own leg to keep from shouting back at him.

"You don't know him. You've never spoken to him. You barely know his name. You don't know his hobbies, his interests, or anything about him. In fact, you only went by what your paranoid instincts tell you, and have dragged that poor boy's name through the mud in this house." There was a brief moment of silence. Uncle Jeremy ignored his niece, quietly eating his potato salad. He had made his point. The conversation was over. Not for Katrina. She folded her hands on the table, staring at him.

"Perhaps your investigative skills have become dull, seeing as you gathered no evidence, and you interrogated me without a lawyer present or probable cause." The 'lawyer' thing was just a bit of humor to soften the blow of her words. It wouldn't help much, but she didn't want to make her uncle feel as though she had nothing but contempt for him. She took a small sip of her sweet tea. Jeremy Silver slammed his fork onto the plate in front of him.

"Grounded. One month," he growled, a finger pointing at her. Katrina wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"I'm already grounded for a month," she pointed out. Uncle Jeremy held out a hand.

"No lab, no TV, no going next door, no after-school activities, and… and…" he wracked his brain for some other privilege to strip from her, "No iPod." Katrina Fiore Silver felt a lump in her throat. Not one of sorrow or depression, but one of a horrible temper about to burst through.

"Excuse me," she said hurriedly, and nearly sprinted up the stairs.

She took care not to slam the door, but inside her own room, Katrina through a Southern Hissy Fit for the ages. She had read online that iPods and other portable media were like drugs to adolescents. Katrina figured she was going through stages of withdrawal at this point. Mainly, her tantrum consisted of wailing on her furniture and bedding with determined fists. She felt like a trapped animal, and wanted more than anything to go outside. She opened her window and dangled her feet off of the edge. Jumping at this point would be a poor move, but the cool air was definitely helping. She fiddled with a flashlight she usually kept on her desk, holding it in her lap and turning it off and on repeatedly as Daniel Powter sang sadly in her head. She knew she must be insane. Didn't care, either.

_Where is the moment we needed the most?_

_You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost_

_They tell me your blue skies fade to gray_

_They tell me your passion's gone away_

_And I don't need no carryin' on_

Katrina sighed. This was the closest she'd ever get to portable media for the next month.

_You stand in the line just to hit a new low_

_You're faking a smile, with the coffee to go_

_You tell me your life's been way off line_

_You're falling to pieces every time_

_And I don't need no carryin' on_

Katrina realized that continuing the song would not be beneficial. She was driving herself crazy. And the saddest part was that she had let the iPod under her skin. It was her fault. If she didn't like music so much, if she hadn't shot her mouth off… A light flashed, brightening the trees for a second, then went off. Again, it came back on, and went off. It did this repeatedly, and it was a few seconds before Katrina realized it was Morse Code.

_Because you had a bad day_

_You're taking one down_

_You sing a sad song just to turn it around_

_You say you don't know_

_You tell me don't lie_

_You work at a smile and you go for a ride_

_You had a bad day… Did you have a bad day?_

Katrina was mildly surprised, and more than a little pleased.

"How did you know?" she flashed the tool in her hand accordingly.

"You seem to have a problem keeping your thoughts focused. That, or you have an odd way of showing your love of Daniel Powter's music…" came the reply.

"You don't think it's kind of creepy of you to just so happen to be staring at my room?"

"I wasn't staring!" The reply was rushed, and rather sloppy.

"Of course not, you just read minds."

"Exactly."

"How did Sammy's test turn out?" Katrina instantly turned to a different subject entirely.

"There's nothing wrong with him. Perhaps he was startled?"

"Startled my right foot, that boy was just about shaking."

"Is he okay now?"

"I don't know, I was sent to my room."

"I'm surprised! What did you do?"

"Mouthed off…"

"You're bad about that."

"You hypocritical little sidewinder! I don't want to hear it from you!" Katrina giggled under her breath as she clicked out her response on the flashlight.

"When have I ever mouthed off?"

"I don't know, why don't we ask those two boys from the bus? Maybe they can think of something."

"It wasn't mouthing off. It was clearly...chivalry."

Katrina made a skeptical face.

"Chivalry is dead."

"No, it isn't. There just hasn't been any need for it for awhile."

Katrina jumped as her door opened. Jeremy Silver looked down at her curiously. A flashing light from behind his niece caught his attention. He watched it for a moment, his expression changing from curious to anger.

"You're grounded, Katrina. That means no communication. Hand over the flashlight," he told her firmly. Katrina mentally kicked herself. The light from the basement next door could obviously be seen from the downstairs study, where Jeremy spent his nights reviewing case files. On top of that, he learned Morse Code in basic training. Katrina had been so flippant with her uncle she had forgotten that he was, in fact, a cop. She handed him the flashlight. With an angry look on his face, he clicked the light on and off, then left, flashlight in pocket. Katrina laid back, hands under her head.

"When did I become the problem child?" she wondered aloud. A tingling feeling crept into the base of her skull.

Wasn't there something I needed to do? she thought. She sat up and scrambled to the door, making a beeline for the study downstairs. She knocked on the door and opened it.

"Uncle Jeremy?" she asked uncertainly.

"You're not off the hook," a gruff voice informed her.

"I'm not looking to be. I have a question concerning a previous case."

"Closed case?"

"Yes, sir."

Jeremy thought about it, taking his reading glasses off and tapping them on the desk. He motioned for her to come in.

"What case?"

"Two first-time felons convicted of smuggling drugs across state lines, including pot and crack. I want to know about the plants they smuggled," Katrina explained, standing in front of the desk. Her uncle folded his hands on the desk.

"Why?" he asked simply. Katrina thought, looking down.

"...You know what happened to your aunt, don't you?"

"I...I'm following a lead." Jeremy nodded, concern shining in his eyes. His paranoia clicked, and concern for his wife, son, and niece ate at his mind. He looked at Katrina, the daughter of his brother, the famous doctor. The smart one in the family, that was Sam.

"Was that why you were at that kid's house?"

"Yes." Katrina answered stiffly. Jeremy nodded.

"Alright. Three days. Find out what happened. If you don't, you let it go and leave the police work to me, alright?" he said, handing her a thick folder from the cabinet behind him. Katrina looked over it seriously, feeling the weight of the case in her hands. Three months of scrounging up evidence, a mistrial, two dirty cops, a related gang-rape, and over thirty grand in unprocessed drugs and plants.

"I understand," she said, never looking up from the case. Somewhere in here could be the key to the attack on her family. Jeremy dismissed her with a kiss on the forehead.

"Stay outta trouble, will ya?" he asked her. Katrina just nodded, walking away.

"Katrina." The girl's hand froze on the doorknob.

"...That McPhearson boy. You... you don't... I mean..."

"No," Katrina said firmly. She left. She quietly closed the door, standing in the darkened hallway.

"KayKay lied to Daddy," a little voice behind her yawned. Katrina forced herself to look her cousin in the eyes. The blue-eyed baby blinked as he yawned again. Katrina picked him up, with one arm and held the papers in the other. She heard her uncle's phone ring in the study.

_"Hello?... No... Talk to Farlo. Listen, Mike, I've got a question. Those two junkies from awhile back, the ones from the smuggling bit? Yeah... Yeah that's them."_ Katrina pressed her ear to the door as Sammy dozed off on her shoulder. At least he's quiet, she thought.

_"Hey, do ya have their recent wherabouts? Huh?... Whatdya mean, still incarcerated?"_ Katrina's heart leapt into her throat. Still... in prison?

"You're sure? Uh-huh... Yeah, thanks Mike." The phone clicked. Katrina left Sammy on his racecar bed in his room, and went back upstairs to her own.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something was off. She slowly gazed over everything in her room. She walked carefully to the window, and closed it, never turning her back on anything. She changed into her pajamas, and crawled into bed. She stared vacantly at the file on her side table. That's when she saw it.

A family photo from two years ago. Her mother and father held her and her little sister still for a picture, trying to run away from a laughing Uncle Jeremy with a water gun. Aunt Felicia stood by with a sleeping baby Sammy in her arms. A summer picnic.

Of course, Katrina was just recalling the picture from memory. Now, the glass was so shattered it was impossible to see anything. Pieces of glass littered the table and carpet.

Katrina didn't sleep all night.


End file.
